


[Stupid Fucking] Brooklyn Hipster Bros

by relenafanel



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art Shows, Artist Steve Rogers, Dancing, Demisexual Steve Rogers, Engineer Bucky Barnes, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hipsters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Drug Use, Practice Kissing, Recovery, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Roommates, Sharing a Bed, Ultimatums, Weddings, and totally into each other, best friends since childhood, bisexual Brooklyn hipsters, faked but not faked sexual content, mentions of past relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4536807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relenafanel/pseuds/relenafanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's mother gives him an ultimatum.  Bucky doesn't respond well.</p><p>All Barneses are stubborn assholes, Steve observes, as though he doesn't see the irony of calling someone else stubborn. Or an asshole.</p><p>And Bucky can't even deny he is a <em>total asshole</em> for lying to his mother about dating Steve just so he doesn't have to bring someone else to her wedding, but damn if he's not going to give the lie everything he has.</p><p>(OR: Bucky and Steve reach an understanding that sometimes it's easier to just pretend they're dating. They hide behind 'pretend' for far longer than they should)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The one where Bucky has an argument with his mom

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[蠢货] 布鲁克林嬉皮士兄弟](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5390273) by [Erix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erix/pseuds/Erix)



> Warnings:
> 
> They're pretty dumb about each other. It'll probably get frustrating.  
> Bucky has a past that he and Steve joke about, but with the understanding it's not actual funny. Includes: excessive drinking, drug use, blacking out, sex, etc.

“Bring a date, Bucky,” Winifred warned him in _that tone_ -  the mother tone she liked to haul out under special circumstances, like when she was trying to guilt trip him into doing what she wanted. It went well with the expression on her face. It was no wonder he was best friends with Steve Rogers if he was so accustomed to that tone and that facial expression.  As though reading his mind, his mother narrowed her eyes and continued with the edict that would make all of their lives miserable.  “And not Steve.”

 

“Bu…” Bucky had no idea how she knew he was planning on bringing Steve.  From the age of 12, Bucky had been the person who found it easy to bring a plus-one to everything, including things that didn’t need a plus-one.  The few times Steve had been his date had been when it was something Steve really should have been invited to but hadn’t been.  Usually, Bucky brought the person he was seeing at the time, or he would just walk up to someone who caught his eye and ask. 

 

It had been as easy as that to him.

 

Enviably, really, or so Steve told him.

 

How could he sit through his mother's wedding without Steve by his side?  Steve deserved to be there.  Winifred was practically his second mother, Steve thought he was going to the wedding.  They'd gone in together on a gift already and everything.

 

“Steve has his own invitation,” she continued, still reading his mind.

 

It was a mom-power.

 

Or maybe she was reading his facial expressions.  “The two of you have been inseparable from such a young age that I can’t imagine him not at my wedding, but I also know the type of things the two of you get up to together when you’re asked to sit still, so please just honor my wishes this one time. On _my wedding day_.”  The mom-look intensified.  He never should have taught her how to FaceTime.  “Bring someone who isn’t your best friend.  _Anyone_.”

 

She said ‘anyone’ with the kind of desperation of someone who had given up on meddling with their son’s love life ages ago.  His mother wasn’t the type of person to want grandkids so badly that she considered it in every potential relationship Bucky had.  She wanted her children to be happy.  Unfortunately for her, Bucky had spent a long time thinking he had to have a plus-one in order to be fulfilled by his life, and that turned out not to be the key to his happiness.

 

For one thing, he picked the wrong people.  He had a long list of names of the wrong people, chosen by him, just because he wanted to be in a relationship, felt attraction for someone, or was inspired by them in some way, and committed himself for a while.

 

It was a problem with him, not with any of the people he’d seen over the past decade and change.  So a few years ago he'd thought it was time to try something new, time to try _not_ committing himself and see what happened.

 

New didn’t work for him either.

 

The problem was that Bucky didn’t want to bring someone, _anyone_ to the wedding.  After more than two years of serial dating without trying to go deeper than surface level, he was finally taking time to himself.  It felt good.  He’d found his happiness, and that happiness was with Bucky Barnes.  He knew and understood himself now better than he ever had before, and it felt freeing in a way.

 

It also showed him that not only did he not need a significant other, he was doing both himself and the other person a disservice when his heart wasn’t really in it.  Bucky was the kind of guy who fell, and fell hard, or became increasingly disinterested.  It wasn’t kind to become increasingly disinterested with someone when they were possibly doing the opposite, and then had to face the reality of Bucky pulling away, until eight days had passed without talking and Bucky was breaking up with them in a Starbucks close to their work.

 

Or, as Bucky liked to think of it, the point he realized that not only was the relationship not working for him, but the way he thought about relationships wasn’t working for him either.  The coffee all over his white shirt hadn’t been the epiphany, it hadn’t been the pivotal moment, but having all those eyes on him watching the scene play out had given him pause to reflect.  It was as though creating a spectacle gave him the ability to see himself from an outsider’s perspective, just for a moment, and he didn’t like what he saw.

 

So while he understood that his mother was saying that she didn’t want a repeat of Bucky’s Aunt Phyllis’s wedding, where he and Steve had grabbed one of the bottles of champagne chilling on a table during the reception and disappeared just long enough to drink it, Bucky didn’t think he could bring _anyone_.   Bucky was cleansing himself of the idea of _anyone_.

 

Maybe someday he’d be ready to face the possibility of a singular person being the _someone_ he’d be with for the rest of his life.

 

That wasn’t going to be today.

 

“What if I’m dating Steve?” Bucky asked, sulking a bit at her tone and the pressure of obligation.  He didn’t want to bring a stranger, he just wanted to spend his mother’s wedding hanging out with his best friend.  Claiming that he was dating Steve seemed rational in Bucky’s mind.  If: 1. he had to bring a date for romance purposes, and 2. he just wanted to bring his best friend, then 3. it only made sense to question ‘well what if my BFF is the person I’m romancing?’

 

The problem with arguing with his mother was that Bucky had to have inherited his obstinate traits from somewhere. 

 

The moment the question was out of his mouth, he realized that he was going to stand by it.  He was going to continue insisting that he and Steve were dating right up to the point where he was waving his mother away on her honeymoon, if it came to it.

 

For better or for worse.

 

Winifred snorted. “You and Steve aren’t dating.”

 

Bucky clenched his teeth.  “Why not?”  His gaze was direct and demanding.  Defiant.  He and Steve _could be_ dating.

 

Bucky and his mother had a standoff of wills over FaceTime, all narrowed eyes and intense looks.  He knew that she knew that he was lying, but hell if he was going to cave first.

 

What was the worst that could happen if he tried to out-stubborn his mother when it came to her wedding day?  While the answer should be obvious to Bucky, he was also mid-argument and there was no one around to make dire faces at him.  So, really, anything that happened from the point where Bucky tried to find a loophole to his mother’s edict by claiming he was dating Steve was all Steve’s fault for not being home. 

 

Life would be so much better if Steve never left his side.

 

(Maybe.

 

Probably not.  Steve also had a unique ability to get Bucky into a _shitton of trouble_ , too.)

 

 _Why not?_ His mother considered his question and he watched her warily.  He could see the moment she stopped thinking of arguments for why Bucky and Steve weren’t dating and really looked at him.  For a second, he thought that maybe she was convinced, and he smiled like he’d won.

 

The smile was a mistake.

 

“By all means, if you and Steve are dating, bring him!” his mother snapped back at him. She looked done with Bucky and this conversation, whether she believed him or not.  The sulky tone and smug grin probably had not helped matters. 

 

Bucky would feel guilty if it didn’t also mean he had gotten his way.

 

“Fine, I will!”

 

“Fine! But if you do and it turns out you’re not dating Steve, I’m allowing Becca to stay with you this summer.  All two months.”

 

Eugh.  No.  That would be horrible. 

 

“Do you hear me, Bucky?” she continued.  “From the moment you hang up this phone, if you’re still insisting on this ridiculous…” she took a breath and cut herself off, rethinking her wording.  “If it turns out that you’re not dating Steve, Becca is your responsibility this summer.”

 

No.

 

Oh no.

 

Bucky was starting to see the risk of going toe to toe with his mom.

 

He would just have to work extra hard to convince her that Steve + Bucky = dating.   What would be something that would weigh the scale in his favor?  “Steve and I are totally dating,” Bucky found himself blurting out.  “I’ve seen his dick.”

 

 _I’ve seen his dick?_ He repeated to himself in his mind.  What was that?  If he wasn’t on video call, he’d be mouthing ‘what’ and making a face right now.  Bucky did not respond well to ultimatums. 

 

Though.

 

Well.

 

At least half of that wasn’t actually a lie, except in context.

 

Winifred rolled her eyes, the very definition of unimpressed.  “We’ve all seen Steve’s dick.  Keeping pants on that boy was impossible up to the age of six.”

 

“ _Recently_ ,” Bucky responded in exasperation. 

 

Recently as in Steve sometimes still hated pants if he was drunk enough.  Being Steve’s best friend was the most amazing thing in the world, for all the trouble Steve got him into.  Bucky was pretty sure the champagne debacle had been Steve’s fault.

 

Steve.  Drunk off champagne.  At a wedding. 

 

_Yep._

 

Bucky's Aunt Phyllis had also seen Steve without pants.  Luckily, his stripping had stopped at just the pants and he hadn't gotten around to his boxers yet.

 

“Well I hope you have,” his mother told him in a triumphant tone. _Warning.  Warning._ There were blaring claxons of warning going on. “For your sake.  Becca is going through a rebellious phase.  She’s a lot like you were at that age.”

 

Terrifying.  The only thing worse than Becca acting out like Bucky had was the fact that his mother thought she'd already won.  Bucky took offense to her tone.

 

“Steve and I are in a relationship, mom. _Goodbye_.” Bucky jammed his thumb on the call end button, and then did it twice more for good measure before tossing it on the couch.  “Fuck,” he groaned helplessly, shoving both hands into his hair and tugging a little bit.  It did nothing to ease the pressure on his brain.

 

“Fuck!” he yelled at the black screen on the television.  It didn’t respond with anything except for a distorted view of his reflection. 

 

Yeah. 

 

That was about right.

 

Bucky had never responded well to ultimatums.  At least, there was a minor amount of comfort there knowing that Steve responded to them with even less grace.

 

Oh god, what was he going to do now?  He was such an asshole.  He had plenty of acquaintances he could have brought to his mother’s wedding who would have said yes for the free food and alcohol, and the promise of Bucky owing them a favor. 

 

Clint would have done it for the first two alone.

 

But no, Bucky had to get stubborn and all high and mighty against his mother.  _His mother_ , the woman who was getting married in a month and experiencing a lot of stress, and who was one of the most stubborn people he’d ever met. 

 

Bucky was well aware that he’d just made his bed and now he’d have to lie in it.

 

And _lie_ he shall!

 

Step 1: tell Steve that Bucky was his boyfriend now.

 


	2. The one where Bucky tells Steve about their relationship status

Telling Steve that he was now Bucky’s boyfriend shouldn’t be a problem, Bucky reflected.  Steve knew him.  Steve knew his brain.  Best yet, Steve understood the relationship Bucky had with his mother, which, even though he was well into his twenties now, still defaulted back to his late-teen rebellious phase when she pressed him hard enough.  ‘Use your words and just tell her why you don’t want to bring a date,’ Steve would tell him.  ‘She’ll understand if you just tell her.’ Then he’d stare at Bucky while he was on the phone until he actually did use his words. 

 

Bucky needed a phone spotter.  Next time his mother called and Steve wasn’t around, Bucky was going to press the ignore button until Steve got home.  It would save them all a lot of headaches.

 

Steve would understand how this happened, Bucky reflected, looking towards the front door of their apartment with a sense of impatience, even though he couldn’t hear motion in the hallway.  Steve had texted while Bucky was on the phone to say he was leaving his studio, a rule Bucky had established the first time Steve had gotten so caught up in his work he was painting until after midnight (and then again the time Steve popped out for a slice of pizza after midnight and Bucky had shown up to an empty studio and no Steve – it wasn’t that he worried Steve had been attacked and was dying in an alley somewhere, it was that he was _terrified_ that Steve had tried to fight some asshole who was trying to attack someone else and was dying in an alley somewhere).

 

Steve was on his way home, and Bucky was preparing himself to tell the truth.  He was sure Steve would understand what had happened.  Steve was Steve, and talking with Steve was easy.  Bucky would just wait for Steve to get back from his studio, hand him a beer, put on a movie, and wait for the moment when Steve was relaxed enough to think Bucky’s plight was hilarious and that pretending to be his boyfriend would be a fun adventure.  Bucky was _awesome_ at being casual and playing it cool. 

 

Steve would never suspect that Bucky felt like the asshole for the conversation he had with his mother. 

 

Bucky was _so cool_ at playing it cool.

 

He was _chill_. 

 

That time he’d accidentally dyed Steve’s hair with vodka kool-aid after they both passed out on the floor?  _Chill_.

 

(Steve still thought that was on one of his other friends.  He’d then liked it so much he’d promptly gone through a punk phase and Bucky had ended up helping Steve dye his hair on purpose.)

 

That time he’d broken Steve’s Jurassic Park T-Rex toy? It turned out the toy scared Steve anyway and he’d actually done Steve a favor. _Chill._

 

Maybe if he was the one to accidentally get Steve into situations, the outcomes could only be awesome.  He could do no wrong.  Steve was lucky to have him.  Bucky found himself nodding to this thought, and the reflection of himself on the TV moved along with him.

 

It seemed totally legit.

 

Everything would be fine.  _Chill_.

 

He wasn’t worried.

 

_He wasn’t._

 

It was convenient for Bucky to ignore all the other instances where his harebrained ideas got both of them into trouble without an overwhelming positive impact on either of their lives, because this wouldn’t be like that.

 

At all.

 

It would be _fine_.

 

He was tapping his foot on the floor when Steve stepped through the door, and it was like the sudden terror at seeing Steve, who looked disarmingly normal with his shirt rolled up to his elbows and paint smears on his pants, clawed a vise around his heart.  Steve’s appearance looked exactly like he had earlier that morning as they’d been getting ready to go to work, and it was a reminder to Bucky that he was about to shake the outward perception of their relationship.  He was about to ask Steve to lie for him, to play pretend, to allow the outside world to see them as the couple they always denied they were.

 

Once he told Steve about what he’d done, there would be no taking it back.  

 

Wordlessly, he handed out the beer he’d taken out of the fridge for Steve, staring at him and wondering if he could do that, if he could ask Steve for something so huge.  It wouldn’t just be Bucky in this (fake) relationship, it would be Steve too.  

 

_Steve._

 

Steve, who was gracious enough to forgive Bucky for breaking his toy and dying his hair.  Steve, who fought bullies and clotheslined purse snatchers on the street.  Steve, who would share the last of his snacks with Bucky, no matter what he was eating.

 

Steve, Bucky’s best friend for their entire lives.

 

Steve closed and locked the front door, slipping off his shoes in the normal amount of time it always took, but it felt like forever to Bucky.  He was sweating nervously, and the condensation on the beer bottle was making it slip beneath nerveless fingers.   Even when he’d been a teenager, he hadn’t experienced the kind of mind-numbing terror at asking someone to be his date as he was with Steve, and he wasn’t sure why.

 

Steve was Steve was Steve.

 

Steve was.

 

_Steve._

 

Finally, Steve crossed the room and took the beer Bucky was holding out to him with a raised eyebrow. 

 

Bucky looked up at him to say something and was so chill he was _frozen_.

 

Bucky realized with sudden clarity that telling him was going to be such a problem.

 

“Okay, thanks,” Steve said slowly, appraising him with a head tilt and continuing to frown at Bucky as he fell backwards on to the couch beside him.  Bucky took a moment to take Steve in, from the signs that he’d been running his fingers through his hair to the furrowed line between his eyebrows.  Bucky’s eyes immediately went to Steve’s hands, knowing that was where the real information was.  Steve’s fingers weren’t stained with either charcoal or paints – it hadn’t been a good day for Steve, artistically.  Bucky could tell from the way his shoulders were tense but his hand easily curled around the bottle like he hadn’t spent twelve hours with a paintbrush in his hand and very little rest because he’d found a zone. 

 

Bucky adjusted the way he was sitting on the couch next to Steve, staring at him thoughtfully.  Steve lifted his leg so that his foot was in Bucky’s lap as he pressed himself closer into the curve where the arm of the couch met the back, like he could sink into it.  His head was back and he was staring at the ceiling, exposing his throat and lazily taking a drink from the bottle before his head drifted back down into a normal resting position.

 

Steve touching him made him jump, edgy and aware of Steve physically in a way he usually wasn’t.

 

He didn’t necessarily have to tell Steve right away, Bucky decided, taking in the way Steve’s eyelashes created darker shadows against the tired circles beneath his eyes from the stress he was currently under.  To Bucky, months seemed like a lot of time before his art show, but Steve was second guessing years of work, convinced he needed to start from scratch, no matter how many times Bucky pointed out how foolish that was. Every day counted to Steve right now, and if he wasn’t moving forward it would feel like he was moving backwards.  Bucky knew his best friend well enough to understand that after a day of frustration, Steve wasn’t in the right mindset to hear Bucky out.

 

He could wait for a better time.

 

(but the longer he waited, the less likely he’d tell him before the day of the wedding at all).

 

(maybe Steve didn’t have to know).

 

(how could Steve _not know_?)

 

“Buck?” Steve questioned, looking concerned as Bucky continued to stare at him.

 

Bucky cleared his throat and finished taking Steve in.  “No.  It’s nothing,” he managed to say.  Steve shrugged in response, reaching to grab his book from the side table and flipping it open to the bookmark. 

 

This wasn’t…

 

Fuck.

 

Bucky didn’t know what to do.  This was Steve.  _Steve_.  He could tell Steve anything and everything.

 

Apparently, this was where the line was drawn because he couldn’t bring himself to open his goddamn mouth and just -

 

\- shake up everything they were. 

 

He was paralysed with it.

 

Twenty minutes later, Steve was attempting to get back into the book he was reading, and Bucky was still staring at him.  Every once in a while Steve would look up, meet Bucky’s eyes, frown slightly at him, and then go back to reading.  Bucky would have to act soon, one way or another.

 

Bucky never could hide anything from Steve.

 

Maybe Bucky could just text it to him instead.  That might work, Bucky decided, curving his hand around Steve’s ankle.  He didn’t even have to text Steve today.  He could do it the next time Steve left for his studio space.  Maybe his anger would inspire a piece of art titled: my best friend is an idiot.

 

Then Bucky would be _helping_.

 

Honestly, probably half of Steve’s artwork had similar titles.

 

Bucky tightened his grasp on Steve’s ankle like a safety net and tried to will himself into a calm state.

 

Steve sighed in response, aggravated, and dropped his book on his lap while turning his head to stare at Bucky.  Bucky turned to stare at Steve in return, feigning nonchalance.  “Not a good day for focusing, huh?” Bucky questioned, gesturing to Steve’s clean hands and the book on his lap, as though Bucky wasn’t the reason Steve couldn’t get into it.

 

See? He and Steve were practically dating.  Who else recognised little facts like that?  Steve’s last girlfriend sure as hell didn’t.  Steve’s longest relationship, besides Peggy Carter because Peggy was an outlier, had been because Bucky had sat down and given the girl a Steve Rogers cheat sheet.  He’d been painfully young at the time and thought it was a good idea, pride bursting in his chest when Steve said ‘she just gets me.’

 

Ten months later, Steve had been crying with his head on Bucky’s lap about how he didn’t understand how someone who understood him as well as Olivia did could be so wrong for him, and Bucky recognized his mistake.

 

He hadn’t told Steve about that either.  Shit. 

 

He’d actually have to tell Steve that they were in a relationship, because Steve deserved honesty.  Steve was honest.  He would insist that Bucky call back Winifred and explain everything.  Bucky was an idiot if he thought it would go any other way.

 

Steve raised an eyebrow at him, mouth turning down in a flat, unimpressed look.  “What did you do?” Steve asked in a blunt tone, looking at Bucky with suspicion.  He reached out to touch Bucky, like he always did when Bucky was upset.  They were incredibly tactile best friends.  Always had been.

 

“What?” Bucky jumped as Steve’s hand brushed his arm, his heart rate elevating. Why? Why was he reacting like this? Oh god, he couldn’t date Steve.  Maybe if he just didn’t tell Steve about it and then started to sit on his lap slowly, inching his way a day at a time, by the time the wedding came around Steve wouldn’t think it was weird.

 

Perfect plan.

 

(seemed fake, but ok).

 

“I didn’t do anything!” Bucky insisted, swinging his legs around Steve’s on the couch so they were sitting with their legs tangled and facing each other.  Bucky’s foot was wedged between Steve’s hip and the padding of the backrest.  Steve’s hand came down to rub his calf muscles and Bucky tensed again, his body obviously clenching from a small casual touch.

 

 _Jesus Fuck_ what was wrong with him?

 

“Ah huh,” Steve answered as he went back to his reading.  “Nothing.  Sure.”

 

Damn.  That was an unconvinced response. 

 

Bucky knew he was being baited.  He knew it.  He knew Steve wasn’t reading so much as he was biding his time, waiting for Bucky to break.

 

He walked into it anyway.

 

“Why do you think I _did_ something?” Bucky demanded.  His voice came out a little high on ‘did’, because that would definitely convince Steve that Bucky was blameless in all this.

 

Could he date Steve?  Steve was his best friend.  He’d seen Steve in footy pajamas and diapers.  Granted, his most recent memory had been a Nostalgia party last year, but he also remembered the original.  Steve’s dad had bought him a pair of fuzzy pajamas that made him look like an ewok and there was a picture somewhere that totally existed where someone had shoved Bucky in his older sister’s nightgown and pretended he was Princess Leia.  He and Steve weren’t Han and Leia, they were Leia and an ewok. 

 

Jesus fucking Christ.  He couldn’t date his ewok.

 

Oh Fuck.  What had Bucky done?  Why couldn’t he have just kept his mouth shut and then asked Natasha to his mother’s wedding?  Steve could have asked Sam and it would be the same as if they went together, with the added bonus of having Natasha and Sam around to help field off all the older generation, who tended to wander over in pairs and demand to know what Steve did professionally.

 

Fuck, that would be so much worse now that he and Steve were officially dating.  Bucky’s aunts and uncles tended to see Steve as a freeloader because they viewed Bucky’s career as being more legitimate than Steve’s, which was usually a laughable experience because it left Steve prickly and indignant and looking like he would fight a senior.

 

Christ, Bucky was an idiot.

 

Steve looked closely at him, considering.  Bucky resisted the urge to squirm in his position of being half-draped over Steve’s lap.  Steve hadn’t even blinked when Bucky had thrown his legs over Steve’s thighs, like that was something Bucky _did_ , and often.  It _was_ something Bucky did.  How drastic would both of them have to be for their relationship to appear to have changed?  _Would his mother actually have to catch Bucky blowing Steve in the washroom?_ Bucky considered with sense of hysterics.

 

Maybe.

 

 _Maybe_!??

 

Maybe he should just ask Steve out, ask Steve to make an honest man out of him (with his mother).  No ruse, just… ask.

 

“Why do I think you did something?” Steve questioned rhetorically.  “Well, it might have something to do with the conversation I had with your mother an hour ago,” Steve said in a casual tone, digging his thumb along the line of Bucky’s tight leg muscle.  It took Bucky a moment to catch on to what Steve had just said and the implications of it.

 

“Urrg,” Bucky groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes as he fell back against the arm of the couch on his side.  He accidentally kicked Steve’s thigh with his toes, and Steve grabbed his foot before he got a heel to the chin. “Oh no.”

 

“Oh yes,” Steve responded, sounding amused like the total asshole who had just allowed Bucky to torture himself for half an hour before bringing it up.  “She started the call with ‘Your boyfriend is driving me up the wall,’ and it took about three more sentences for me to realize she was being literal instead of facetious.”

 

“And?” Bucky questioned with trepidation.  He couldn’t see Steve and he thought that maybe he could just spend the rest of his life with his arm draped over his eyes so he’d never have to face anything directly again.

 

“And, what?” Steve questioned in a mild tone.  “You’re acting like this is the first time I’ve covered for you without knowing the full story.”

 

Yeah, but it had been ages since Bucky took Steve for granted like that, back when his mother’s phone calls were more in the realm of ‘is Bucky staying there for the night?’ and not ‘so I hear the two of you are together.’  Back then, Steve had covered for him once and then set ground rules that basically amounted to Bucky never doing it again.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, dropping his arm so he could look at Steve.  “I didn’t expect her to call you.”

 

“No,” Steve answered, his mouth curling like he was trying not to laugh.  “I don’t expect that you did.  So what did you goad her into this time?”

 

“What makes you think she didn’t goad me?” Bucky sulked, pouting as he pulled himself into a seated position and gave Steve his best wounded expression, all wide pity-me eyes that had never worked on Steve, but always made his lips twitch at the fact that Bucky kept trying.

 

“I’m sure the two of you were at your most civilized through the entire conversation,” Steve said, his tone slightly too earnest to be anything other than sarcasm.

 

Jesus Christ.

 

Steve Rogers, his best friend.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky grumbled.  “That’s my mother you’re disparaging.”

 

“The mother you lied to a little while ago,” Steve pointed out in a rational, morally superior tone.

 

He was totally laughing on the inside.  Bucky could tell.

 

Bucky scowled at him.  “I didn’t lie to her, I just… created a problem that is easy enough to solve.”

 

“And that is?” Steve questioned, and now he was outright laughing like the shitty best friend that he was.  Bucky had no idea why he was so concerned with telling Steve.  He should have known it would go something like that.  Steve would be amused, feign righteous, and eventually would take pity on Bucky.

 

Bucky felt everything equalize as he recognised the pattern.  “We’re not dating.  It’s a problem, Steve,” he said in a very serious tone.

 

“Is it?” Steve questioned, leaning closer to him with a grin, his warm palm curling around Bucky’s leg, as though he knew that his touch had the ability to ground and calm Bucky. 

 

Of course he knew. 

 

"Mom told me to bring someone I’m dating to the wedding, but I don't want to find someone to go with. I just want to go with you," he whined. 

 

Steve’s hand stilled where he was rubbing his strong fingers over Bucky’s calf muscles.  Bucky’s legs were always tense after a long day in the office, standing over his work table.  It only became worse when he was stressed.  Steve looked at him, frowning with consideration.  "It’s her wedding.  There's got to be someone you can stand being with enough to sit next to in order to make her happy.  I'll be there anyway," Steve reminded him, resuming rubbing his hand against Bucky's leg in a comforting manner.  "I'll be there, your sisters will be there.  Just because you have to bring a date doesn't mean it will be a bad time.  What about the receptionist at work?  You chat with her all the time."

 

Eugh, no.

 

Bucky shook his head emphatically.

 

"You’ve gotta understand.  I just wanted it to be the two of us," Bucky tried to use his most convincing tone, sulking at the idea Steve was trying to sell him on and trying to discourage that train of thought. More importantly, he wanted Steve to _know_ and to understand why this happened, because Steve would get it if Bucky was clear about his reasoning.  Steve _knew_ him. "If I bring someone, you'll bring someone, and you're a lot more of a courteous date than I am.  You’ll spend the night paying attention to them, and I need you to spend the night _paying attention to me_.  That's why I told mom we're dating, so we can cut out the extra people.”  Bucky watched as Steve’s expression changed, indicating that he was sympathetic to what Bucky was saying, and it was a relief to see.  “So we’re in a relationship now, for better or for worse."

 

“It’s ok,” Steve assured him, and he couldn’t reach Bucky’s hands so his fingers curved around his ankle in comfort.  “But Buck, come on, you can just tell her the truth.  She’ll get it.  If you don’t want to bring an actual date, bring one of our friends.”  Steve looked so solemn, thinking his suggestions would actually work and Bucky wasn’t beyond that point.

 

Oh Steve, such a dear, trying to solve Bucky’s problems like a true friend.  A true bro.

 

Bucky was so beyond anyone’s help, even Steve’s.

 

Bucky shook his head, curling forward so he could wrap his hand over Steve’s.  They sat like that for a moment, close enough that Bucky could press his forehead against Steve’s if he wanted to.  Bucky gave a slight shake of his head and a sheepish smile.  "There’s more to the story.  Your rational suggestions have no place here, anymore.  Mom told me that I better be serious or she’ll make me babysit Becca for the summer if it turns out I'm lying, and I think she’ll do it too.  She was furious when she told me that that if I was still insisting that we were dating by the time the call ended, she’d sic Becks on me.  And you know how I respond to things like that."

 

Steve stared at him for a beat and then sighed.  “You hung up on her, didn’t you?”

 

Yes.

 

But.

 

Not before he told his mother about Steve’s dick, Jesus Fucking Christ, _why?_ Why was Bucky such a trainwreck when talking to his mother?

 

“Yes,” Bucky agreed, nodding, because Steve never had to know that part.  “That’s exactly what I did.”

 

Steve continued to stare at him like he knew there was _more_ to the story.

 

Stared.

 

Blinked.

 

Accepted what Bucky was saying (and wasn’t saying) without question.

 

"Bucky," Steve pointed out in an aggrieved tone, grimacing as he gestured around their small apartment.  "Becca can't stay here."

 

It was testament to their years of friendship that Steve understood that when Bucky said ‘I think she might actually make me babysit Becca’ what he really meant was ‘an edict has been passed if we fail’.  Not only did Steve understand, but he took it seriously. 

 

"I know, right?" Bucky responded.  "I'm too old to go clubbing every night, and she'd probably dick punch me if I tried to protect her from half the stuff I used to get up to.  I can’t just stand by and watch my sister make those mistakes, and you know she will."

 

"You’ll never be able to stop her, you Barneses are a bunch of stubborn assholes, I should know.  I rarely managed to stop you," Steve answered, digging his thumb into the arch of Bucky's foot and pressing along the ridge until Bucky let out a sigh that hitched at the end.  Steve’s expression looked satisfied and slightly smug, like making Bucky feel relaxed would distract him from what Steve said next.  “She’s staying in your room.  We can’t just put her on the couch – guests deserve privacy.” He pressed his thumb into Bucky’s arch again.

 

"Oh," Bucky hissed, flexing his toes. "I don’t want to give up my room.  And you don’t want Becca here.  You're gonna bail me out of this, right?  Date me, Steve," Bucky said dramatically, throwing his arms wide.  "Look at me, I’m a catch. Show me a good time at mom's wedding.  Be my plus one."  Bucky smirked at Steve, giving him the intent glance he usually reserved for seduction techniques.  He allowed his tongue to curl out of his mouth a bit, wetting his lips as he stared at Steve through his eyelashes. 

 

Steve didn’t look phased.

 

Probably because Bucky had once embarrassed (and possibly aroused) him by spending twenty minutes fellating a dildo until Steve either learned how to give a blow job or could never use a sex toy again.  Steve’s last boyfriend would come out of the bedroom while Steve was napping and wax poetics to Bucky about Steve’s mouth while he was trying to eat supper, so Bucky was relatively sure that half of Steve’s successes in bed were due to his lessons.

 

If not, he was taking credit anyway.

 

Of course, the boyfriend before that hadn’t seemed too impressed, but then he hadn’t reacted expressively to anything, up to and including: 1. Steve crying over his mother finally going into remission, 2. Bucky finding out about the second boyfriend he was cheating on Steve with, and 3. Bucky throwing his phone in the toilet after finding out about the second boyfriend he was cheating on Steve with.

 

They didn’t talk about Steve’s second to last boyfriend for more reasons than his complete apathy to Steve’s foreplay skills.

 

Steve gave Bucky a sarcastic look, not buying Bucky flirting with him, so he widened his eyes and hoped to look sorry and pathetic and needy, instead. 

 

Steve retaliated by pinching him. 

 

“I’m your best friend,” Steve reminded him.  “Don’t pull that face at me like it’s fooling anyone.”

 

“No, don’t tell me what to do,” Bucky stuck out his tongue. “I think I’ll keep it until it annoys you into dating me.”

 

Steve sighed impatiently.  “Of course I’ll take you to your mother’s wedding.  Why wouldn’t I?  Who better to pretend to date you than me?  We're practically living in each other's pockets already.  I know you use teeth while making out, but hate it done to you during a blow job.  I know you only cuddle if the sex was good and you don't like other people using your tooth brush even if you just finished eating them out.  You pay for cabs to make sure someone makes it home ok, but prefer your date not to assume you’ll pay for their meal, and you love it when the person you’re dating calls you before you call them.  When else would I use all that information if it wasn’t to convince your entire family that we’re together?" 

 

"I know even more overly personal stuff about dating you, too," Bucky nodded sagely, playing along but always upping the ante because he and Steve had a healthy amount of competitive spirit.  "You love bottoming but can rarely let go with another person long enough to make it happen, and it frustrates the hell out of the people you date.  The easiest for you was Peggy pegging you," he smirked.  "Which, by the way, I still love the pun, years after she stabbed me with a fork for calling her Pegs.” Steve smiled fondly at the memory, and Bucky ticked off a finger to continue his list.  “You always like cuddling, you’ll pay for supper, whether the other person offers or not, and you're so good with your hands that no one has left your room unsatisfied, which they wouldn't because you have a huge dick and you don’t seem to be completely incompetent at using it.  The real question isn’t whether we can be convincing, it’s _do you think we can fool my mom_?"

 

Steve looked embarrassed and uneasy from Bucky’s list, ignoring the gravity of Bucky’s question and going right to the insinuation.  “Not being completely incompetent is because of the hands thing,” Steve admitted, cheeks red.  “Not the… size of my dick.  Foreplay is important.”

 

“When you’re working with that?” Bucky questioned, dragging his toes over Steve’s thigh to dig into his inseam. “Yeah it is.”

 

“Can we stop talking about my penis?” Steve asked, a flush working its way up his neck. Bucky pressed his toes a little harder, smirking as Steve hissed at him.  Steve grabbed Bucky’s foot and pushed it away from him, holding it in one hand and forcing Bucky’s knee towards his chest.  In retaliation, Bucky pushed back and almost kicked Steve in the face again.  They tousled a bit before Bucky finally decided to take it easy on Steve and put his foot on the couch, bent knee resting against the back cushions and his other foot on the floor.

 

It struck him with a sudden moment of clarity what it must look like for him to be splayed in front of Steve, legs spread open in invitation.

 

It was.

 

It wasn’t.

 

Not deliberately.

 

Not on purpose. Fuck.

 

Wow.

 

Huh.

 

“Why can’t I talk about your penis?  We’re dating, aren’t we?  Isn’t that a thing a boyfriend would do?” Bucky questioned in a teasing tone, waggling his eyebrows at Steve. The flirting was overt, so maybe Steve wouldn’t notice that there’d been an uncomfortable pause as Bucky took stock of his body language and closed his thighs as much as possible without deliberately moving. “Maybe I’ll even see it later,” he winked outrageously.

 

“I’m not drunk enough for that,” Steve informed him in a serious tone.

 

Bucky cackled.

 

“Be serious about this for a second,” Steve chided him.  “I know enough about you to fool almost everyone, but your mom knows that. We need to talk about how to handle this. You know I need to put in a lot of prep work to sell a lie.”

 

“But prep work’s your specialty,” Bucky grinned, nudging Steve with his foot.

 

Steve looked like he was regretting more than his wording - such as decades of friendship. “And you’re still twelve,” Steve pushed Bucky’s legs off the couch, causing Bucky to unbalance completely and roll off the cushion he was sitting on.  He was laughing as he got his feet under him, turning so he was crouched with his arms on the seat beside Steve.  Steve looked amused, smiling down at him.  “I’ll want something in return.  I need you to attend my gallery opening with me.  You’re better at selling me than I am at selling myself.”

 

That was an easy enough thing to promise.  Bucky had already planned on going to the opening with Steve.  He would have to be dead to miss it.  He would have made sure to be available to Steve whenever he needed him, too, to the point of interjecting on conversations Steve was crash and burning with if it came to that.  Everyone would have assumed he was the boyfriend anyway.

 

They always did. 

 

He and Steve had at least one ‘oh no we’re not together’ conversation a month when they were being social.  Some months it was more than that.  Some months it was more like ‘once a week.’

 

If that was the only thing Steve wanted in return, it was the easiest relationship Bucky had ever negotiated.  "I'm glad we're still friends," he said, nudging Steve over so he could sit beside him, curling up against his side and feeling the warmth seep through Steve's shirt and settle against Bucky’s own extremities.  Steve leaned into him, so they were both supporting each other, his chin against Bucky’s shoulder.  "Not many people are lucky enough to go through their whole lives with the same best friend."

 

"I’m not sure that’s luck,” Steve grumbled.  “Look at the things you get me into.”

 

"Shuddup," Bucky mumbled.  "I'm trying to have a moment, since you’re my boyfriend now and everything.  You’re supposed to be charmed by me.” 

 

"No wonder you can't seem to stay in a relationship," Steve answered, flipping on the television.  “If this is the kind of smooth talking I can expect.”

 

Steve was one to talk about staying in relationships.  Bucky scowled at him, but supposed there was a certain truth to it.  Steve had always been honest about the fact that he was looking for a long-term thing, it wasn’t his fault that it hadn’t happened yet due to circumstances. Steve tried to make it work, and he was always the first to understand when it wasn’t.   

 

Bucky would never be the first one to let Steve go.  Steve would have to leave him first, and so far it hadn’t happened yet, despite the things Bucky put Steve through in college.

 

Bucky had no idea what he would do without Steve.

 

“I’d never try to shake you, anyway.  Your brain seems pretty tenuously attached as it is and when we were kids you probably would have crumbled into a million pieces.”

 

“Wow.”  Steve seemed less impressed by Bucky’s non-sequitur and more like he was looking back on the last twenty years of his life and wondering how they ever became friends.  Steve gave him that expression about three times a week.  Not only was Bucky used to it, but he’d figured out years ago that it was just another reason that Steve would always be with him.  To Steve, that was showing fondness.

 

(Fondness was also showing fondness. Steve loved him tons.)

 

“It’s not that big of a deal, right?” Bucky asked, feeling a bit vulnerable with the sudden uncertainty of what they were about to attempt.  “We can pretend to be _in love_ in love for a while, can’t we?  I mean,” he continued, biting his lip as he looked at Steve through his eyelashes.  The expression was completely genuine.  “Is it really pretending when we’re clearly platonic soulmates?” 

 

He said it sarcastically, because _platonic soulmates? Seriously_? But on the other hand, yeah, of course they were platonic soulmates.  If there was anyone in the world who that term could be applied to, it would be Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers.

 

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.

 

“Sure,” Steve shrugged, rubbing Bucky’s opposite shoulder with his hand, cheek pressed against the one closest to him.  They were so tactile already, curled on the couch together like there wasn’t a completely bare cushion on the other end.  What _would_ faking a relationship look like? That was territory Bucky couldn’t face fully, not yet.  “It’s not really pretending so much as it is allowing ourselves to be aware that the possibility is there.”  The look on Steve’s face was just as uncertain as Bucky felt, and he turned to look Bucky in the eye, close enough that Bucky could count the freckles across his nose.  “Right?”

 

They were staring at each other.

 

Unblinking.

 

**_Aware the possibility was there?!_ **

 

At least Steve understood and felt the same way about the situation that Bucky did.

 

There was a certain amount of comfort to be taken from that, Bucky decided, trying not to dwell on the fact that Steve’s words were both exactly what he needed to hear and a truth that would be best for both of them to either face full on or avoid entirely.  “Right.”

 

God.  Bucky rubbed his face, trying not to think about it.  It was impossible not to wonder what it would take to get Steve to look at him the same way Bucky sometimes looked at Steve.  It was impossible not to consider that maybe he already did.  They had years to form a mutual sense of avoidance at _possibilities_ , and they were braced on the precipice of completely tearing down the protective walls they’d built around their hearts.

 

Or, at least, Bucky was, and he hoped that Steve was there with him.  There was a tremulous sense of potential there if he was.

 

Fuck.

 

The possibility _was_ there.

 

“We’ll be fine,” Bucky promised in a cocksure tone.

 

“Of course we will be.”

 

They were Steve and Bucky.

 

Bucky and Steve.

 

They were always fine.


	3. The one where they practice (and practice) (and practice)

Somehow, despite setting his own work hours, Steve always managed to wake up before Bucky did.  Bucky wasn’t sure if that was just Steve, or if there was something special about loving what you did so much that you wanted to wake up before seven in the morning and get to work.  That was a mentality that Bucky could not understand, and since he figured that even if his job with Stark was his dream job (which, once upon a time he’d thought it was) he wouldn’t want to haul ass out of bed before the sun was up, he also assumed Steve was just _a morning person_ .  Steve woke up that early _willingly_.  Bucky would never understand that.

 

Having a roommate who radiated a sense of wakefulness every single morning before Bucky even had his coffee was enough to make Bucky really glad that it was Steve.  Anyone else, and Bucky probably would have murdered them with his shitty waffle iron. Even with Steve, it was a close call when he smiled at Bucky from the kitchen, looking pleased to see him after Bucky had been jarred out of bed fifteen minutes before his alarm went off by the sound of Steve returning home from his run.

 

Someone had once told him that you should only live with someone you’d already survived a fight with.  In the case of _Steve fucking asshole morning person Rogers_ , Bucky figured the adage was more like ‘you should only live with someone if you can survive seeing them smile at you before you’ve had coffee.’

 

“What is it?” Bucky griped when he stumbled against the wall, his coordination still asleep in his bed.  It sounded more like a prolonged grunt.

 

Steve spoke Bucky-language, though.  "We need to practice," Steve told him, awake, cheerful, and dripping sweat on the kitchen counter as he took a swig out of the carton of orange juice.   Bucky had to pause in front of the kitchen and take him in in his entirety, looking all golden and perfect in the morning light.

 

Fucking Christ.  It was way too early for this.

 

"Practice what?" Bucky croaked, his voice coming out like someone who hadn't spoken for years rather than the sleep-tired tone he expected.  Steve handed over the orange juice carton and turned to press the brew button on their Keurig. Bucky drank deeply from the carton, feeling the cold juice ease down his throat like a balm. 

 

He and Steve shared.  Orange juice wasn’t the least of it. 

 

It was a fact of life. 

 

"Dating."

 

Dating.

 

Of course Steve wanted to practice dating.

 

And… Soon they’d be sharing a lot more than orange juice.  Soon they’d be sharing actual spit.  That was a terrifying realization.  Bucky’s brow crumpled in uncertainty as he considered what practice dating would look like.  "Sure,” he shrugged, because dating Steve was easy.  He knew exactly what Steve liked. “Let's go see that new Pixar movie tonight." 

 

The two of them already had plans to see the new Pixar movie.  There was a thin line between BFF outings and dating, it seemed. 

 

 "Yeah, sure.”   Steve’s expression made it seem like this was a normal conversation.

 

“Are we going to make out in the back row?”  Bucky questioned curiously, smirking at Steve and daring him to say yes.

 

“If you want.” Steve dumped creamer into his coffee and Bucky perked up.  Steve didn't take creamer, and he especially hated the sweet flavored ones Bucky favored.  Bucky was making grabby hands towards the mug before Steve even turned around to give it to him. 

 

"If this is what you're like as a boyfriend, I could get used to it," Bucky murmured, his voice still rough from the dry air of breathing through his mouth all night.   He took a sip of his coffee, and it felt like a spiritual experience.  Coffee Steve made for him always tasted so much better than his own, even though it went through the same steps.  He thought maybe it was that the water got infused with eau d’Steve.

 

"It helps that I didn't have to put up with you snoring in my ear all night," Steve answered, ever sassy.  It was a sign that they'd lived with each other for as long as they had that Steve recognised Bucky's dry morning throat to be caused by a night of mouth breathing.  "But what I meant was that we should come up with different cues and practice them.  We should remember that your mom has seen the way we’ve acted together all of our lives, so acting normal won't work."

 

 Bucky snorted softly into his coffee.  "Remember when my aunt kept insisting that we were in a relationship?" Bucky asked.  

 

“We were tangled up on the couch,” Steve observed, crossing his arms over his chest and casually leaning back against the cupboards across from Bucky.

 

Bucky pursed his lips so he didn’t laugh, because the reason was far more complex than the way they were sitting, but he nodded in agreement to Steve.  "True, but she's gonna be so smug.  Mom's gonna hate it."

 

Steve looked at him carefully. "I thought you said you were ok with her getting remarried," Steve said, taking a sip of his own black coffee.   “This isn’t some small petty revenge is it?  I know Wilhelm isn’t George, but he’s not a replacement for your dad.”

 

"I am ok with it," Bucky dismissed Steve's concerns, actually waving his free hand in a slicing motion.  He accidentally did it with the hand with the mug in it, and coffee threatened to slosh over the lip and on to the floor.  "I'm not deliberately trying to inconvenience her.  I just… I can’t do a casual relationship right now, you know?”

 

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve answered him, a concerned frown crossing his features and causing that groove to show up between his eyebrows.  They took a moment to critically assess each other before Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping forward in what most people would assume was relaxation but that Bucky knew was anything but.  Steve seemed resigned about something.  “I know.”

 

Bucky reached over and smoothed the frown line out with his thumb.  “What was this about a plan?" 

 

"Hand signals, I think," Steve answered, looking thoughtful, but he wasn't fooling Bucky.  Bucky knew that Steve had probably considered all the angles before he even mentioned the subject to Bucky. "I think we should have signals for when we need to look slightly more in a relationship,” he ticked off one finger. “Drastically more in a relationship.” Two.  “And when we've gone overboard and should back off a bit."  Steve said the last one with a deadpan look in Bucky's direction, as though he could look into the future and see that Bucky was the one who took things to the extreme. 

 

 _As if, Steve_.  Bucky had done off-Broadway theatre during college!  He knew how to act.

 

"You can act on a stage," Steve answered out loud, his voice sounding a bit aggravated.   “You don’t know the meaning of the word subtle.”

 

Bucky scowled at Steve for being able to read him so easily.  " _Stop reading my mind_!" Bucky answered him.  His tone might sound like he was angry, but his mouth curled up into a grin as he looked at Steve.  Suddenly his morning felt a million times better.  "I'll accept the hand signal thing," he conceded.  "Because it makes this feel like we're undercover.  You know I've always wanted to be a spy. "

 

 "I'm not sure whether you'd make a terrible one or an awesome one," Steve pointed out with a shrug.  "Better than me, anyway.  That's why I need a plan.  If we don't practice how to do this, I'll probably forget to touch you entirely."

 

Bucky didn’t think a day had gone by in their whole goddamn friendship where they hadn’t touched somehow, even on the days they wanted to throttle each other.

 

"I doubt that," Bucky answered.  Both of them were habitual touchers.  "Come up with the signals and I'll memorize them.  Promise."

 

Steve’s mouth tightened slightly as though he was trying not to say something.  “Are you awake enough to remember them?”

 

“Of course you already have,” Bucky continued with a sigh, wanting to roll his eyes.  It wasn’t actually a surprise that Steve had planned everything out already.  Bucky’s best friend was nothing if not a strategic motherfucker.  Scratch that.  Bucky’s boyfriend.  “Let’s hear them.”

 

“Ok, if I think you should get a bit closer to me, I’m going to touch my left wrist with my right hand.”  Steve highlighted this by wrapping his hand around his wrist.

 

Sigh.

 

And Steve accused him of lacking subtly.  He was way too tired for this conversation.  Steve was right to question his alertness.

 

“That doesn’t sound casual at all,” Bucky pointed out.  “That sounds a lot like you standing around in poses that make you look like you’re standing at attention,” he illustrated this by posing with his back ram-rod straight and his shoulders squared.  He couldn’t do the full pose with a mug of coffee in his hand, so he compensated by throwing Steve a sloppy salute with the mug.  “Instead you could… clear your throat?”

 

“Clear my throat?” Steve questioned incredulously, starring at him for a moment with that expression that told Bucky exactly what Steve thought of that suggestion.  “Because that’s not obvious.  Fine.  If you think that’s better, I’ll clear my throat.”

 

“You don’t think it’s fine,” Bucky pointed out.  “You’re just agreeing with me so we don’t argue about it.”

 

“When have I ever shied away from arguing about something?” Steve snapped back at him, his eyes becoming sharp with his anger for about three seconds.  “This whole thing was your idea, we’ll try it your way.  If I want you to kiss me, I’ll swipe my hair out of my face.”

 

“You always swipe your hair out of your face.”  By this point Bucky was arguing just to be pissy.

 

Steve seemed to realize it too because they stared at each other for the span of a heartbeat as Steve considered him and didn’t rise to the bait.  Instead he took a deep breath and continued. “The point is to not look weird and unnatural.  We don’t want people to put together the action I’m doing with your response.  When I think you should back off, I’ll tap your hand.  Think you can remember those?”

 

“Throat clear.  Hair swipe.  Hand tap.  The three elements to any believable relationship.”

 

“Yes.” Steve looked determined, like this was the most important conversation they’d ever have.  “What are yours?”

 

“What?” Bucky questioned and then wanted to roll his eyes.  It was waaaay too early for this shit.  “Uh… same.”

 

Steve sighed.  Bucky frustrating him was a great start to their relationship.  Everything would be fine between them because Bucky frustrated Steve about five times a day.  It felt like they were right on schedule. “You didn’t even think about it, did you?”

 

“You’re the one who can’t lie without a solid, detailed plan.  I’m the one who wings it, remember?”

 

 x.x.x.

 

It was a long day at work made even longer by Tony pulling him out of a project he was actively working on to stick him in a meeting with Pepper.  Bucky liked Pepper and enjoyed her company, but it showed him where his own projects stood in Stark’s eyes when more priority was put on him sitting in a room with a bunch of CEOs.  Ensuring that Pepper had a consultant on hand who could explain the hidden nuances in the technobabble other companies tended to throw around to hide design flaws was important, Bucky agreed, probably more important than his projects in the scheme of the company as a whole, but Stark employed people whose job it was to do that specifically and Bucky was not one of them.   

 

Steve was in the kitchen and Bucky automatically headed towards him, needing to see him to help remove the bitter aftertaste of his day.  Seeing Steve always made things better and renewed his sense of purpose.

 

Bucky pulled off his tie and scrubbed his fist through his hair before dropping the silk bundle on the counter in the kitchen.  He leaned back, bracing his ass against the counter as he watched Steve stir something on the stove.  Already he could feel the way the boiling water was steaming up their small kitchen space, topping the warm spring humidity and creating a stickiness that reminded Bucky that summer was coming.

 

“Do you think we should get one of those small apartment air conditioning units?” he asked, fiddling with the corkscrew magnet stuck to the fridge.  “Last year was hell in here.  It smelled like feet and the stagnating scent of the dumpster in the alley.”

 

“We talk about this every year and never manage to get off our asses to buy one,” Steve pointed out, giving Bucky a look out of the side of his eye.  He turned, adopting the same pose against the stove far enough away from his boiling pot that he wouldn’t accidentally burn himself.  He looked at Bucky and then cleared his throat.

 

“This summer will be the year!” Bucky promised.  “I know I questioned where we’d put it and how we’d store it, but I think I’d rather be tripping over it for the other 9 months of the year than live through another Brooklyn summer without it.”

 

 Steve cleared his throat again.

 

Oh no.

 

Steve clearing his throat was never a good sign.  It always meant that it was tickling or there was a build-up of phlegm or any number of indications that Steve wasn’t feeling well and was probably on day three of hiding it.  The boiling pot was probably loosening whatever was congested in his chest.

 

Steve was the worst when he was sick.  He was always temperamental, especially when he wasn’t dying. When he wasn’t on death’s door, that meant he hated the way Bucky wanted to hover around him like a concerned parental figure and force feed him teas and popsicles.

 

“Do you need a cough drop?” Bucky asked, squinting at Steve to see what other signs there were.  Did he look paler than normal?  Was there a sheen of sweat on his forehead? “You’re not getting sick, are you?”

 

Steve gave him a look of extreme disappointed.  “No.”

 

“Cause the wedding is coming up,” Bucky reminded him.  “You need to be healthy enough to be my date.  You’ll come anyway, right?  Even if you’re in the hospital with pneumonia?  Just like the field trip in sixth grade where I had to practically sit on you until after the bus left so you wouldn’t try to go - only this time I will be complicit in you making yourself worse if it works out for me.  Please, Steve.  You promised.”

 

“Oh my God, Buck, I haven’t been that sick since I was twelve.”

 

Bucky stared at him with a completely deadpanned expression.

 

“Twenty,” Steve amended, “but those were extenuating circumstances.  I don’t usually sit on the cold ground in the middle of January while getting over the flu.  I’d have to go trap myself in a freezer for two hours after getting caught in a rainstorm to even come close to replicating that right now.”

 

Bucky gave Steve his best ‘seriously’ face. 

 

“I don’t even know where to find a freezer,” Steve promised.  “My point was that pneumonia feels impossible right now.  I’ve never been healthier and I’ve never gotten it for no reason.”

 

“There’s a first time for everything!” Bucky pointed out, because Steve was stubborn and stupid about monitoring his own health if he thought it would inconvenience anyone.  He’d probably attend Bucky’s mom’s wedding with appendicitis and not tell anyone until they were on their way home, and even then it would be ‘I’ll drop you off first, there’s an errand I have to run. Don’t worry,’ and then Bucky would spend the evening holding his hand and yelling at him that getting surgery wasn’t the same as picking up a new tube of paint, _Jesus Christ Steve_.  “If you’re not sick, it’s allergies, then.  Take some fucking Claritin.  I think there’s some in the bathroom, I’ll grab you one.”

 

“ _Bucky_ , I’m not sick,” Steve’s head fell backwards in defeat, almost hitting against the cupboard behind him.  “We’re using the wrist touch.  You can’t seem to get the throat clearing as a hint.”

 

“Ohhhh, you want me to get closer to you,” Bucky said as though it was a huge epiphany.  “This was a test.  Ok, change it, just punch me on the arm if I mess up again.  I can learn.”

 

“Tempting,” Steve mused, “but that’s not what we want you responding to.”

 

Bucky grimaced at him.

 

“And yes, get air conditioning.  Maybe if my paintings do well we can get a better apartment once our lease is up.  One that has air conditioning.”  Steve looked at him through his eyelashes, his head tilted down with the vulnerable uncertainty of that dream ever coming true.

 

It would.  Bucky knew it would.

 

“We’ll be living the dream, air conditioning _and a dishwasher_ ,” Bucky mused out loud with a reassuring smile, thinking of all the things they could do if and when Steve became successful enough to support himself.  It was a game they’d played for years, but everything felt new and possible with Steve’s show on the horizon.  “Maybe instead I’ll quit my job and take a year off to do fuck all but sit on the couch and watch Netflix and eat Cheetos, if you’re willing to switch off on who pays rent.”  He almost phrased it ‘if you’re willing to support me for a change’ and stopped at the last moment.

 

“You’d get bored,” Steve answered, but still looked like someone who felt guilty, and Bucky berated himself for saying anything at all. No kind phrasing padded the blow of reminding Steve about his pride. “But if you want to, yes.  You should do that.   I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to get even one showing, and who knows if anyone will even like me?” he fretted, balling his hands into fists.

 

Bucky thought that with the patronage of someone like Pepper Potts, Steve would never go hungry again.  Or, well, there wouldn’t be lean months in his commissions where Bucky was paying for both the apartment and the studio space he rented out.  Bucky was pretty sure that Steve had been working more hours at Thor’s store and keeping it from him instead of asking for money, which went against the whole deal they made in the first place.  “You’re amazing,” and though Bucky had said it time and time again, it was true enough that it never sounded like a platitude to his ears.  He didn’t know what Steve heard.  “It’ll go fantastically.  Everyone will love you and you’ll be called a new up and comer in magazines.”

 

Bucky had already arranged for that to happen, and he knew Steve suspected it.  What was the point of saving Stark International fifty million dollars the year before if he couldn’t call in a few favours?

 

“Right now I’ll just be happy to sell a few pieces to someone other than Pepper.” Steve sighed, like he was sick of having this conversation.  Bucky was sick of having it too, but would continue to do so until Steve got it through his thick head, which meant it was possible that he’d be having it for the rest of his life.  Steve bit his lip.  “It feels like cheating.”

 

Everyone probably thought their best friend was talented enough to make it, but Bucky’s actually was.  That made it distinctly not cheating.  “There’s nothing wrong with getting help getting your foot in the door in this economy,” Bucky pointed out. He couldn’t actually do that for Steve, but working with Stark International had gained him people who could. What Bucky could contribute were the contacts who would love to help Steve get ahead, like Pepper.  Pepper loved Steve’s work, and Pepper was not the type of person to coddle someone untalented and call her good taste into question.

 

Steve gave him this sarcastic look, telling Bucky that he thought Bucky knew shit about how the art world worked.  Bucky knew well enough to understand that Steve finally accepting Pepper’s offer to help hadn’t been because he’d suddenly realized what a fanatic opportunity it was.  Steve had reached the end of the line in weighing his pride financially against his pride professionally.

 

Bucky understood that well enough.  He worked for Tony Stark.  He knew that if he didn’t change the topic soon that Steve was going to start offering to get a normal, full time job that wouldn’t allow him to work on his art at all.  They’d been having the same argument for years.  “Come here,” Bucky said, curling his arms around Steve’s broad shoulders and encouraging Steve to put his head in the crook of Bucky’s neck.  Steve’s breath against his collarbone was a familiar sensation, so familiar that it didn’t strike Bucky as funny that he ended up touching Steve after all, not until he’d let go and Steve was dishing him up a bowl of soup, their fingers nudging each other out of the way as they both reached for a spoon.

 

x.x.x.

 

The first time Steve brushed his hair off his forehead, he was standing in the kitchen eating a salad, elbow braced against the counter.  They spent a lot of time standing in their kitchen eating things, because their kitchen was too small for even the tiniest bistro table.  Both of them could barely stand in it without touching.  On good days, Bucky called it cosy.  On days he smacked his forehead or knee against an open cupboard he called a lot of other things.

 

Both of them had a habit of following the other into it and watching them eat like giant losers who couldn’t be out of each other’s line of sight for more than five minutes.

 

“The thing is,” Steve was saying to Bucky when it happened.  “I can’t really control who buys my art, not at this point in my career anyway.  This guy, though, he just embodies everything my art stands against and he thinks it’s fantastic.  Am I going wrong somewhere?”

 

“He probably thinks it’s satirical,” Bucky offered, realizing how unhelpful he was being at the same time Steve made a face at him.  It was his indignant face of justice, along with just a smidge of self-flagellation. 

 

“That’s a problem.”

 

While Bucky didn’t disagree, exactly, he put a lot more emphasis on money than he did on artistic expression, and while he thought it was ironic and a bit nauseating that Steve’s fantastic political and social commentary pieces were being snatched up _before the show_ by someone who directly embodied everything they stood against, the bottom line seemed worth it.

 

Steve sighed, clearly exasperated, and swiped his hair back with an impatient hand.  “It’s a lot of money.”

 

Bucky’s heart was suddenly racing, and it felt like there was a stampede of wild animals racing through his body.  He was seized by the realization that this signal, this one he’d been watching for.  It was strange, wasn’t it?  That Bucky was looking forward to the excuse to kiss Steve?

 

No.  Not really.  It did mean that this plan was going to be a disastrous idea.  Bucky wasn’t going to make it out of this experience whole.  There would be broken pieces of him around the apartment, through the wedding grounds, and around the gallery by the time it was over.  They’d be the pieces of his heart that he’d been guarding for years, shored up against the way that Steve made him feel.

 

“Hey,” Bucky said, as casually as he could be as he leaned in, pressing his mouth against Steve’s.  The angle was awkward, but the kiss was short, just a quick touch of the corner of his mouth against the corner of Steve’s before he backed up.

 

“Uh,” Steve stuttered, eyelashes fluttering.  “I…” he licked his lips.  “Buck?”

 

Bucky reached over and swiped Steve’s hair out of his face, a quick flick of his fingers to show Steve that he’d only been reacting to his cues.  “Refuse to sell the paintings.  It might be interesting if you establish yourself as an artist who vets buyers.  Like they have to prove their worth to you.  It’ll make owning a Steve Rogers original mean more.  That’s probably got some kind of fancy art world name, right?  What’s it called?”

 

Steve was just staring at him, and for a second, Bucky wondered if he’d even heard a word he’d just said.  “Poverty,” he finally answered in a dry tone before shaking his head and taking a vicious bite of lettuce.

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky was curious about what would happen if he gave Steve his own cue for a kiss.  It would be so easy to put his hand through his hair to see if Steve would stop talking, stuttering to a halt to watch Bucky closely before carefully leaning in and kissing him.  Or maybe Steve would be more direct, more pragmatic, and just do it with little hesitation. 

 

They’d already had their first kiss, one that had far too little fanfare for the fact that it was between Steve and Bucky, best friends and platonic soulmates for life.  Bucky thought that if he ever kissed Steve it would be a momentous occasion.

 

It would matter.

 

He couldn’t be disappointed that it didn’t.  It was a bed of his own making, and Bucky still thought the idea to take Steve to his mother’s wedding was a solid one.  He didn’t like the idea of looking back at pictures of his mother’s marriage and wondering who the person he was with was.  He would be fine.  It might not be as bad as he thought, because when he’d kissed Steve he hadn’t even dwelled on the fact that it happened for hours, thinking about it right before he went to sleep, and when he did all he thought was that it was a good thing that it would happen again because it hadn’t been much of a kiss.

 

So it was with trepidation that Bucky reached his hand up and ran his hand through his hair.

 

Steve didn’t notice.

 

x.x.x.

 

 _I ran my hand through my hair three times between getting home from work and leaving this morning_ , Bucky texted Steve when he took a moment to pause from his work.  The stool he was sitting on was digging into his ass and he really wanted to go see if Pepper had anything good planned for lunch that he could get in on.  Maybe his feeling of discontent was one of his own making, because he actively sought Pepper out at least once a week.  He didn’t know anyone else who would indulge in pretentious but not-quite-haute cuisine with him on a regular basis.

 

Bucky was kind of a hipster when it came to food.  Usually he went with Steve’s down-to-earth tastes and ate a lot of soups and sandwiches at home, but working with Pepper definitely had culinary perks that she was all too happy to indulge, probably because Bucky was good company compared to most of the people who mooched off her.

 

And now he was hungry.

 

 _Just so you know, you should work on that_ , Bucky sent next before he shoved his phone in his suit jacket pocket and went in search for lunch.

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky probably shouldn’t have left his office.  “And then that asshole said that if Stark and I weren’t so focused on mutually jerking each other off that maybe Pepper wouldn’t look so unsatisfied.  Then he implied some very unsavory things he could do to solve that problem. Fine, say whatever you want about me, but don’t bring Pepper into it, especially when she’s not there to fire him on the spot.  I was so furious,” Bucky steamed, throwing his feet up on the coffee table.  Steve was sitting beside him, attentively listening despite the fact his focus seemed to be entirely on the sketch book in front of him.

 

Bucky didn’t mean it as anything but a sign of his frustration.  He ran his hand through his hair, the fingers of his other hand clenched into a fist.  Before he understood what was happening, Steve was kissing him, his mouth a warm distraction against Bucky’s ire. Bucky stayed still for a moment, his body tensing with surprise and residual fury.

 

Steve was kissing him, and he wasn’t pulling away.

 

The realization was a heady thing. Then Bucky found himself melting into it, his body relaxing, pliant against Steve as he gave into the urge to lick at Steve’s bottom lip.  Steve seemed to enjoy it, shifting slightly to better the angle.  Bucky moved with him, his eyes fluttering open just long enough to take in the long sweep of Steve’s eyelashes and realize he probably wouldn’t survive this with his eyes open.  Steve’s mouth was slightly chapped, it had been hours since he had shaved, and he was still carrying the scent of paints and turpentine. It was everything Bucky had ever allowed himself to imagine. 

 

Bucky bit gently on that tempting bottom lip before he pulled away and took a moment to appreciate how Steve looked after a short kiss.  His cheeks had a flush to them and Bucky swept his thumbs over Steve’s cheekbones to see if he could feel the heat, his fingers curved over Steve’s cheeks as they observed each other.  Steve’s eyes were half-lidded as he looked at Bucky with affection.  His mouth only carried the slightest bit of shine from their kiss, and it was curved into a self-satisfied smile.

 

How would he look if Bucky really worked at it?  If Bucky took the time to make Steve’s mouth look red and wet and stung from his lips and teeth?

 

Probably amazing.

 

Bucky snorted, his arm coming down to rest on Steve’s closest shoulder and he leaned sideways into him, giving Steve the chance to turn away from him and back to the abandoned sketch on his lap.  “Have you been waiting for that opportunity since I got home?”

 

Steve shrugged, but turned back towards his sketchbook with a small grin.  “Someone mentioned it was a skill I needed to work on.” 

 

Bucky blew out a breath the moment Steve’s attention wasn’t entirely on him. Maybe Steve’s observational skills could use work, but his kissing skills were top notch.  He tried to resist the urge to touch his mouth and grin.

 

“We’re not very good at this,” he observed, picking at a stray hair that was clinging to his pant leg and looking anywhere but the curve of Steve’s thigh pressed against his.

 

“We’ll get better,” Steve promised.  “That’s why we’re practicing.”

 

Yeah.  Practicing.  This was going to be both the best and the worst idea Steve ever had.  Bucky was going to get so accustomed to Steve kissing him that going back to a situation where they didn’t was going to seem strange and empty.  It was early yet and he was already aware of the possibility.

 

“Anyway,” Steve continued, blithely unaware of Bucky’s resignation.  “You should probably tell Pepper about the way your asshole coworker talks about her.”

 

“I’m not a snitch.”

 

“But it’s grossly disrespectful,” Steve answered, inhaling deeply through his nose to signify he was about to get started on a rant, and Bucky tilted his head to watch the expressions on Steve’s face as he started talking.  His heartbeat still wasn’t back to normal after the kiss, but at least this felt right.

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky kissed Steve on his way out the door as Steve was returning from his run, sweat dripping down his forehead from hair that was so damp it looked brown.  The kiss tasted slightly of the sweat on his upper lip, of Bucky’s toothpaste, and of domestication.  It made him smile (for the look of surprise on Steve’s face) all day to the point that Tony remarked on the good mood he was in. Then he threw someone else’s prototype on Bucky’s desk and asked him to check it out before the shareholder meeting in the AM.

 

 _Won’t be home tonight,_ Bucky texted Steve.  _Drive-by Tony assignment._

 

**New text from Steve:**

_Painting. Same._

 

 _See you this weekend, then_ , Bucky responded with a sigh.  _Remember we have brunch with Sam on Saturday._

 

**New text from Steve:**

_Thumbs up emotion._

 

**New text from Steve:**

_Sorry doing speech to text but you know what I meant._

 

Bucky sent the thumbs up emoji just because he was an asshole.   He followed it up with a kiss emoji, also because he was an asshole.  If you couldn’t send a kiss emoji to your best friend, who could you send it to?

 

x.x.x.

 

“I know,” Steve said, answering an unspoken remark when he stumbled in the door, smudges of paint coating his clothing and deep circles beneath his eyes that looked like he had taken a shade of purple on his thumbs and swiped them beneath his eyelids.  His hair was turning greasy and he hadn’t shaved in at least twenty four hours.

 

“Did you get work done?” Bucky questioned in a mild tone, checking Steve over as he walked past Bucky on the couch to get to his bedroom.  He was looking for more signs of fatigue, of hunger, or general indications that Steve’s all-nighter had led to health risks.  He wasn’t sure if Steve had been home since they texted on Thursday night.  That was more than an all-nighter.

 

“Some,” Steve answered in a dismissive tone, obviously not wanting to talk about his work. That was a bad sign.  If it had gone well, Steve wouldn’t be able to shut up about it. “I remembered to eat and I took a nap on the couch, before you start in on me.  I’m going to shower.”

 

“You should,” Bucky remarked, shovelling a spoonful of yogurt in his mouth.  “You stink.”

 

“You look well-rested.  Tony’s drive-by wasn’t an all weekend affair?”

 

“Not this time.  Sam expects us in about three hours.  That gives you about two and a half hours to sleep.  I’ll wake you.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve responded.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes in response, even though Steve couldn’t see his face.  He ignored the shower running and continued to ignore Steve after he emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist and went into his bedroom.  It was tempting to text Sam and push back their brunch, but he knew that if he did that then Steve would be angry that Bucky was babying him.  It was better to just let Steve try to get through lunch while exhausted.

 

By the time they sat at the table across from Sam at their favourite brunch place, Steve looked like he was back to being himself.  Sam was intent on the menu in front of him, though every month he ended up caving and ordering the exact same thing along with a gallon of orange juice for himself.  Sam could not resist breakfast meats and eggs any more than he could say no to pancakes.  Bucky thought the whole reason they did brunch at all was so Sam could sometimes have company, because Bucky assumed he came every weekend whether they were accompanying him or not.

 

That was how much Sam loved brunch.

 

“Should I get mimosas?” Steve mused, looking at the menu through his thickly framed glasses, the fact he hadn’t bothered with his contacts one of the most telling signs that he was running on little sleep.  At least it was telling to Bucky.

 

“They’re shit here,” Bucky reminded him.

 

“As if your egg-whites omelette is the epitome of good taste,” Sam pointed out.  “I don’t know why I let you guys drag me here.  I could buy two containers of orange juice for the price of what they call a glass.”

 

Bucky snorted and frowned down at his menu through his sunglasses.  He wasn’t hungover like a lot of the people in the restaurant were, but that didn’t mean he wanted to take them off.  It was bright and they were part of his aesthetic.  They went well with the beanie he had on to pretend his hair was a mess because Bucky didn’t know how to dress for brunch when he’d been awake for four hours.

 

“We could go somewhere else,” Steve pointed out, but since none of them moved to leave, or ever would decide on another place, it was a pointless suggestion. Bucky resisted the urge to offer Steve his beanie because his hair was flat in the back from sleeping on it, and he hadn’t bothered changing out of the stretched-out shirt he wore as pajamas.  Bucky kind of wanted to press his mouth against Steve’s cheek because they matched in their young twenty-somethings hipster but-not-trying attire.  Sam was the only one who looked put together, and Bucky wanted to give him pointers on how to not look like a responsible adult while doing brunch.

 

Sam looked like a fucking tourist compared to the rest of the people their age in the small restaurant. If Bucky gave a shit, he’d be embarrassed to be seen with him.  “I say that every month,” Sam griped, fronting like a total jerk because he would never pick another place to go unless they also had Canadian bacon and called about a half-dozen eggs a single serving.

 

Steve smirked at Bucky, probably thinking the exact same thing he was.  “I want to try that new place in Williamsburg.  Maybe we can go next month.”

 

“That fucking hipster place?” Bucky questioned, and Steve raised his eyebrows as though implying that Bucky did not have ground to stand on calling something ‘fucking hipster’.  “I’m in.  You know I’m in.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam muttered, drinking deeply from his first glass of orange juice.  “We all know you’re a weekend hipster.”

 

“I don’t even know what that is,” Bucky responded, reaching for his black coffee.  “Is that a label real people use?”

 

“I don’t know, you coined it last month.  Is it a real label?”  Sam looked at Steve for edification and it was the funniest thing Bucky had seen all morning.

 

“Why are you asking me?” Steve questioned.  “I really do need these glasses to see.  Bucky can be whatever he wants to be.”

 

“Right now I’d settle for being fed,” Bucky sulked, even though he’d already had yogurt.  Who knew the last time Steve had eaten, though.  Bucky hadn’t even stayed to see if he’d had breakfast Thursday morning, and Steve had a bad habit of forgetting to nourish himself when he was intent on his work.  Bucky looked over to see if Steve looked faint, only to catch him fiddling with his watch band.

 

It took him a moment to remember the hand-to-wrist signal after they had bypassed it so cleanly into kissing.  He looked from Steve’s wrist over to Sam and back to Steve, taking in the slight smirk on Steve’s face as he did a piss poor job not telegraphing he was up to something.

 

Bucky sidled closer on the bench seat, placing his arm around the back and allowing his fingers to trail across Steve’s left shoulder.  This was kind of fun, he considered, looking over at Steve and grinning.  Steve turned his head slightly and smiled back at him, his hand coming down and patting Bucky’s thigh.

 

He looked back to the table to find Sam staring at the two of them, his mouth open in a skewed expression of shock and dismay.  “Oh fuck,” he exclaimed.  “The two of you have been a couple all this time, haven’t you?  I just put it together, because that?  That’s not friendship.”

 

“Bucky and I are training,” Steve answered easily, taking a sip of his coffee.

 

“For what?” If anything, Sam sounded more horrified.  “The sex Olympics?  The Newlywed Game?”

 

“Steve and I aren’t together,” Bucky informed him, leaning across the table.  His arm trailed along Steve’s back, reluctant to lose contact.  That was entirely Bucky, not their ruse.  “Mom’s wedding is next month, and she and I had a discussion about my dating habits that ended with me yelling at her that Steve and I are dating and I’m bringing him.  It was all very dramatic.”

 

“You’re in training,” Sam expressed slowly, looking between the two of them.  “To fool Bucky’s mom on her wedding day.”

 

Bucky could see Steve following his nod out of the corner of his eye.  They probably looked like a couple of nodding losers, blindly agreeing to this farce.  “Or else my sister comes to stay with us for two months.”

 

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.  Listen up, numbskulls.  You gotta be honest and just come clean.  This is why the romantic comedy franchise exists.  It’s people like you.  I cannot believe that this is the solution real people come up with, and now you’re what?  Just spending the month pretending you’re into each other?”

 

Steve just looked amused.  “Have you told your mother that you hate that casserole she makes?  The one you pass on to us every time she sends one home with you.”

 

“It’s like every second week, Sam,” Bucky continued the train of thought.  “I’ll come clean to mine when you come clean to yours.”

 

“Enjoy fake dating,” Sam said, saluting the two of them with his mostly-finished glass of orange juice.  “I can’t wait til your wedding, at the rate you’re going.”

 

  x.x.x.

 

Bucky kissed Steve in the checkout line at the grocery store.  Both of Steve’s hands were carrying groceries, and the cashier who regularly flirted with Steve but treated Bucky coolly was on till.  It was petty of him.  He knew it was petty of him, and the way Steve’s eyes lit with amusement told Bucky that he knew just how petty Bucky was being.  “Never could keep your mouth to yourself, could you?” Steve murmured at him.

 

“Pretty sure that’s you,” Bucky responded, reacting to the way Steve was laughing at him with his eyes by leaning in and kissing him again.  It was a quick press of his mouth against Steve’s, but he’d been told that no matter how light a kiss seemed to him, there was something about his smooth movements when leaning in and the shape of his mouth that made nothing he did look innocent from the outside.

 

It was what he was counting on.

 

He didn’t know how that would translate when you added Steve’s mouth to the equation.  If Bucky’s mouth looked like sinful things, Steve’s was all temptation.

 

It was something Bucky was finding to be more and more true.

 

x.x.x.

 

Steve kissed Bucky when Bucky got home from work after a long two days sitting in a board room next to Pepper Potts in San Francisco.  Bucky was exhausted from the flight home and from the notes that he and Pepper spent the six hours making so Tony could _not_ read them.  There was a tension in his back, because as easy as flying was as a mode of transportation, he never really relaxed at the idea of being in the air, trapped with a bunch of strangers, and he knew what it looked like when he walked through the door, his shoulders up around his ears.  He saw Steve and deflated, tension easing away.  He saw Steve and Steve was walking towards him, and…

 

Kissed him.

 

Steve kissed him and Bucky pressed his hands to Steve’s elbows, backing him up in the small area where their front entrance was and pressing him up against the closet.  The kiss was hot and surprisingly passionate compared to every other one they shared, like Steve had something to prove to Bucky with his tongue. 

 

It was a dangerous game for Steve to play, because Bucky knew how to kiss.  He knew how to tease Steve into opening his mouth, to coax him along with subtle movements.  Steve hummed deep in his throat, his fingers curling into the back of Bucky’s shirt and giving him a tug.  Bucky stumbled sideways for a moment and that was all it took for him to be the one with his back up against the closet door.  Steve’s thigh slotted between his legs, and even though Bucky was still standing, it felt like Steve could support all of his weight if he just let go.

 

He did, his body slid down a bit, riding Steve’s thigh.  Steve’s hands came down to his hips, fingers firmly grabbing Bucky’s ass.  “Up,” Steve said, the word taking shape against Bucky’s lips.  Steve seemed to like the shape of it, because he repeated it silently, mouth coming around Bucky’s top lip.

 

Bucky hummed in question and Steve tightened his grasp, showing Bucky with his body language what he wanted him to do.  Bucky almost laughed, but he complied, using his arms on Steve’s shoulders to give him the leverage he needed to jump and cling to Steve with his legs around his waist.

 

Steve didn’t catch him easily, but then he didn’t drop him either.  He hissed “shit,” against Bucky’s mouth as he stumbled backwards, hands scrambling to find a hold to keep Bucky where he was.  There was a moment of vertigo where Bucky was sure he was about to slide back down Steve’s body, and he wasn’t sure he would actually do anything about it.  But somehow, Steve managed to find his hold and the moment ended with Steve standing in the middle of the front entrance, Bucky clinging to him. 

 

Steve’s eyes were wide and Bucky was laughing.

 

It was perfect.

 

“Hey, now,” Steve chided softly, tentatively taking a step forward.  It jostled Bucky, who was precariously sliding down the more Steve moved.  Steve was such a loser.  Bucky loved him so much.

 

He laughed again.  “I’m glad I could get insight into all these smooth moves you have,” he told Steve, actually delighted.  Steve scowled at him as he gingerly turned the corner in their shoebox of an apartment, halting in front of the couch.  “Oh no,” Bucky said.

 

Steve’s grin turned devious in return as he allowed himself to drop backwards on to their couch.  For a moment Bucky was falling forward and then his knees hit against the seat cushions and he jarred against Steve’s shoulder.  The couch made an awful creaking sound and something splintered from their combined weight landing on it.

 

Bucky pressed his forehead to Steve’s shoulder and took a deep breath, not sure whether he was about to laugh or chide Steve for breaking their furniture.  In a situation where Steve was with someone else and sheepishly had to admit to Bucky that he’d broken the couch while making out with someone on it, Bucky probably would have laughed at him, because while it could happen to anyone, the fact that it happened to _Steve_ was hilarious.

 

He raised his head to look at Steve, taking in the shocked expression on his face, mouth open with disbelief and his expression so, so shamefacedly astonished.  “I don’t know what you expected,” Bucky chided softly, grinning, before leaning in and taking Steve’s bottom lip between his teeth.

 

x.x.x.

 

After a month of practice, Bucky had to remind himself not to constantly lean in for a kiss, his fingers now habitually seeking Steve out for small, fleeting touches that were nothing like the ones he used to do.  Now, he tucked his fingers into Steve’s pockets, trailed his thumb along Steve’s lip, and slid his hand into Steve’s hand as they walked.  

 

Before.  Before, Bucky thought that they were as tactile as possible, but that had been as friends.  He now understood the difference and there was a part of him that wished he didn’t.

 

He wasn’t sure who it was they were fooling by not being in a relationship, because Bucky was pretty sure he wasn’t fooling himself.  Maybe Steve was, but he didn’t think so. 


	4. The one where Bucky's mom gets married and they (don't) dick around

Bucky was an extremely lucky man.  Out of everyone at this wedding - all his family and extended family, all his mother’s friends, all her future spouse’s family and friends, and probably even the catering staff - Bucky’s date was the most ridiculously attractive man in a suit in the building.  His broad shoulders filled out the simple tux he had on in a way that made the cut look like a million bucks.  People noticed Steve all the time, but there was something even more disarming about the way he looked when he made an effort.  The last time he’d worn the tux to one of Bucky’s work events, Pepper had made a sound in the back of her throat and muttered something about wondering what a proper tailor could do.

 

It was one thing to see Steve in their own apartment, carrying his tie in one hand as he looked for his other shoe in the closet, and quite another thing to see him standing in the entranceway of the venue Bucky’s mom had booked for her wedding reception, waiting for Bucky to be finished with the professional photographs Winifred wanted taken in the garden with just the (new) family.

 

It was _quite_ another thing.

 

Fuck, Steve cleaned up well.

 

Steve didn’t just clean up well, Bucky realised as he walked towards his best friend. Steve was the type of person who wore clothing the way it was meant to be worn.  He’d understood what Pepper had meant, but now he could see it in the way the material of Steve’s suit hugged his legs, and the breadth of his shoulders in a jacket that was meant to give the illusion of Steve’s natural shape.  There was something charming about Steve being framed by the twinkle lights set up in the awning, white tulle and soft pink flowers emphasizing his masculinity, as though he was waiting for Bucky to walk through the doors.

 

Because Steve _was_ waiting for him, if the way he smiled when he saw Bucky walking towards him was any indication.  Steve was waiting for him, and his wide smile continued even after Bucky stopped in front of him.

 

Bucky’s heart tripped over in his chest, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to analyse why.

 

It was unreal.

 

“Steve,” Bucky teased with a smile, leaning close until they were physically touching, Bucky’s shoulder nudging against Steve’s.  “Didn’t anyone ever warn you it’s extremely rude to look better than the bride?”

 

“No,” Steve answered, ducking his head and reaching out to take hold of both of Bucky’s hands.  There was a flush across his cheeks and a directness to his gaze that spoke of courage and mental fortitude.  Bucky knew all of Steve’s faces.  He knew this one, too.  He knew Steve was about to say something honest.  “No one can match your mother for radiance.  Not today,” he smiled, his hand reaching up to cup against Bucky’s face as he looked at Bucky like he mattered, like he was everything. “Except for maybe you, right now, and the way you’re looking at me.”

 

_The thing about Steve…._

 

The thing about Steve was that his grand sweeping romantic gestures, and his moments of charm and flirtation, always came from a place of extreme honesty. 

 

Bucky felt himself flush.  It wasn’t the charmed warmth of a good compliment, it was like his whole body was suddenly alight, a white, hot flare starting at his core and radiating outward until even his extremities were tingling.

 

Steve smiled at him.  The feeling didn’t go away.

 

“I’m looking at you that way because you’re gorgeous.”  Bucky could do honesty too.  It was especially easily once Steve started them off, like he was playing honesty-chicken with Steve and one-upping him came naturally.

 

Steve brushed his hair off his forehead, an incongruous motion with his haircut, but one that Bucky immediately recognised.  He moved so the two of them were pressed together more intimately, his hand trailing along the base of Steve's spine and over his hip bone.

 

Bucky leaned forward, his mouth brushing over Steve's, tentatively at first and then he added a bit more pressure when he realized Steve wasn't going to pull away, even surrounded by Bucky’s family, old friends, and Steve’s mom. It was one thing for them to practice in the relative privacy of their apartment, or in front of strangers, but this was the real moment, the real test of their ability not to cringe away from each other. He sucked briefly on Steve's bottom lip, his teeth scraping across it once he had enough access to the sensitive skin.  Steve made a sound that was partially contented, and not just a little aroused.  It prompted Bucky into realizing he needed to pull away.  There was still a lot of time in the reception to convince people that they were together and Bucky didn’t want to get so caught up in Steve he missed all the important stuff with his mother and her new husband.

 

Most of him didn’t want that, anyway.

 

Bucky gave himself one last moment to appreciate Steve’s face so close to his, and he was drawn to Steve’s mouth for a final quick kiss.  Then he pulled back completely and put space between the two of them.

 

"Come on," Bucky said, offering Steve his arm.  "We don't got all day."

 

He turned to lead Steve into the reception, coming face to face with Becca.  There was some kind of expression on his sister's face that had him shuffling closer to Steve, feeling the need to protect him before he even thought of it.  Becca looked... Bucky didn't know.  Angry.  Disappointed.

 

Revolted. 

 

If Becca was a small animal, she’d be bristling with a defensive warning.  Instead, she was his little sister, and Bucky felt gutted just at her expression at seeing him with Steve.  That made Bucky the small, cornered animal in the situation.

 

 "I told mom Steve and me are together now," he said defensively before she could say anything.

 

"Steve and I," she corrected, like the brat she was.

 

"Actually..." Steve started.

 

"That wasn't what I meant to say," Becca said quickly.  "Your bad grammar just brings it out in me.  Mom was almost sure you were lying.  I thought I'd get to spend the summer in New York City for sure.”

 

“That’s not my fault,” Bucky drawled in an unconcerned tone.  He could feel his own shoulders go up in defense, tensing in a way that he knew Steve would catch on to.  Steve’s support was immediate, his hand landing on Bucky’s shoulder and squeezing. 

 

“This _is_ your fault,” Becca emphasized, practically stomping her foot in front of him. “You don’t know what it’s like. How is it that you got to grow up in Brooklyn, but the moment I turned ten, mom bundles us off to the suburbs?  It's not fair!"

 

Bucky shrugged, but his shoulders eased into the motion.  He understood her better, in that moment.  She didn't care that he and Steve were kissing beyond what it meant to her fantasy of spending the summer with him.  She wasn’t about to get mean and vicious except in that teenage angst way where everything seemed so dramatic and personal.

 

"Maybe we can work something out," Steve assured her, leaning in and kissing her cheek.  "You're looking very lovely this evening."

 

She beamed at him and giggled.  "You know how to charm the Barnes family, Steven Rogers," she declared with a coy grin.  And Jesus Christ, that was definitely a flirty tone.  His sister was flirting with his boyfriend, or at least his best friend who she thought was his boyfriend!

 

Bucky glared at her.  He wasn’t even affecting the reaction to sell the relationship.  In that moment he actually felt very possessive of Steve.  But _fuck_ would that be his worst nightmare, if his sister somehow managed to grow up into someone Steve could love more than him.  It was ridiculous to even think of and it would never happen, but somehow it still made him cold.

 

"Lighten up Buck.  Jealous much. I'm really the only one who witnessed the two of you groping in the hallway, so you should be nice to me.  Maybe I’ll just keep it to myself and mom will never be convinced the two of you are dating and I'll get my summer in the city after all."

 

"You could," Bucky conceded, flicking her his own devious expression from beneath his eyelashes. His brain was still telling him threat, _threat_.  His brain was stupid. "I'm sure she'd be interested to know the amount of alcohol you've managed to consume already.  Don’t think I didn’t notice you stepping behind shrubbery for a moment alone while we were taking pictures."

 

Becca huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.  “Don’t think I don’t know what you were doing at my age.  You’re a hypocrite, James Buchanan Barnes.  Who do you think I learned the art of subtly from?”

 

Steve, the traitor, laughed.  "Fantastic seeing you as always," Steve said, directing Bucky through the awning with his hand firmly against the small of Bucky's back.  It was a comforting touch, grounding him despite how irritated he felt as he walked away.

 

"Who does she think she is," Bucky grumbled, grabbing an appetizer off a passing waiter.  He shoved it into his mouth in one bite, chewing angrily.

 

"Your sister," Steve answered mildly, smiling at one of the other party guests.  "She takes after you more than she takes after your mom."

 

"She just tried to blackmail me," he muttered around the food in his mouth.  He found a waiter with champagne and grabbed two flutes, automatically handing one to Steve.

 

Steve just seemed to find that pronouncement even more amusing.  "Yeah, she definitely takes after you, then."

 

Bucky scowled at Steve.  “Disparaging my character already?” he questioned, taking a sip of champagne and heading for their table.   His eyes spanned over to look at Steve with amusement, and by the time he lifted the flute back to his mouth, he felt more relaxed.  There was something about Steve being an asshole to him that always felt like comfort.

 

“I would never,” Steve insisted as he took a seat, his tone sounding like the very idea wounded him. 

 

Steve was full of shit. 

 

“Sure,” Bucky responded, lips curling up in amusement.  He sat and placed his hand on Steve’s thigh, looking around the table to see who else his mother had sat them with.  While most people were in the reception hall already, most of them were milling in groups talking and waiting for the bride and groom to make their first entrance as husband and wife.  The presence of Bucky and Becca was a cue enough for a lot of people that things were about to get started.

 

Bucky smiled at Steve as the maid of honor asked everyone to take their seats.  He kept his hand where it was as extended family sat around them, even though he was gritting his teeth when he saw who was on the other side of Steve.  Bucky felt like his mother was probably punking him, putting the two of them at a table with his blowhole conservative Uncle Bill.  She was punishing them for each not bringing someone else, because four people would need a different table configuration than two.  His mother was an evil genius, and Bucky wasn’t sure Becca hadn’t gotten the blackmailing gene from her.

 

“I used to love Brooklyn,” Blowhole Bill said, once he verified Bucky was still living in the area. “But it’s gone downhill now that it’s full of artists and angry activists with their equal rights movements and those strange rural kids with their thrift store clothes.  If they can’t afford New York, they should move back to whatever cornfed state they came from.”  He then looked at Steve for emphasis, as though Steve wasn’t at least third generation Brooklynite. 

 

“I know,” Bucky drawled, rolling his eyes as both he and Steve exchanged a look.  “You lived there before it was cool.”

 

“Exactly.  So what are you doing these days?”

 

“I’m an artist,” Steve answered with a cold smile, and Bucky knew with a hundred percent certainty what came next.

 

“And I’m a pissed queer.”  If Bucky didn’t say it, Steve would, and it had a lot more impact coming from him.  Bill’s face turned red with anger just as Bucky’s mother and her new husband walked into view, making their first entrance as husband and wife.  Bucky stood to clap, taking Steve’s hand as the clapping dwindled, leaving the immediate wedding party sitting on a raised platform.

 

There was something about the moment that took Bucky’s mind off of how annoyed he was. Even his Uncle Bill getting up and sitting at another table didn’t throw off the fact that Bucky could not take his eyes off his mother.  He had been wrong in telling Steve that he was the most beautiful person in the room, because Winifred was radiating such a sense of happiness, that Bucky didn’t think anyone in the world could be as lovely or important as she was in that moment.

 

Bucky met her eye and grinned at her, winking and watching as her face lit up in delight, and he reached over the share the moment with Steve without thinking about it.

 

x.x.x.

 

Speeches were over, Bucky finished his dessert, and suddenly he remembered the thing about weddings that he’d conveniently put out of his mind.  His mother was dancing with her new husband, and he knew he’d be obligated into spending time dancing with Steve in his arms.  He made a face at Steve before going to offer his sister to dance with him the moment the rest of the couples took to the floor.  It seemed right for that first dance to be with Becca instead of Steve, whether Steve was his best friend or his boyfriend.

 

A little part of him wanted to avoid dancing with Steve as long as possible.

 

It wasn’t that neither of them danced, Bucky reflected once he slipped back into his seat, content to just watch for a few songs, it was that his mother deserved a few dances with her husband before her eldest child made a spectacle of himself.  Steve returned from dancing with his own mother shortly after Bucky did.  Sarah was looking at them with amusement that made Bucky wonder if Steve was more truthful with her than Bucky was with Winifred.

 

“Hey,” Steve kicked his foot against Bucky’s beneath the table.  Bucky automatically pressed back.  “We should dance.”

 

Bucky schooled his expression into one of concern.  “You don’t enjoy dancing,” he pointed out, lips curling into a teasing smirk.  He knew why Steve would rather be dancing than sitting at this table, but he couldn’t help himself from drawing attention to it.

 

“It’s a wedding.  We’re here together, the bride and groom have celebrated their first dance, and it would look strange if we just sat here all night,” Steve pointed out.  “Ergo, dancing.”

 

“Oh. Ergo,” Bucky snarked back, getting to his feet and holding his hand out for Steve.  Steve scowled at him, because despite Bucky’s charm and how pretty the picture was he presented – the typical ‘dance with me’ pose – Steve wasn’t the kind of guy who enjoyed being offered a hand.  “Using the big words.  Are you trying to impress your date, Rogers?”

 

“Considering my date is as dull as mud, I’m sure he’d think a two syllable word was impressive,” Steve answered, standing but not reaching back for Bucky.

 

“You know, jerk, this hand thing isn’t just for show.  It’s so I can lead you out to the dance floor,” Bucky griped as Steve brushed by him, starting towards the floor without him.

 

“Who said you’re the one who’s gonna lead?”  Steve questioned, turning and quirking an eyebrow in Bucky’s direction.  Bucky stepped up to him, slotting himself into Steve’s space.

 

“I’ve never cared about that,” Bucky reminded him.  “You do what feels right,” he continued.  “Lead or don’t lead, I’m the one whose versatile, remember?” Bucky smirked like he was making a dirty joke, and partially he was, but he also knew how to reassure Steve that he had his back.

 

It wasn’t that Steve didn’t dance, he knew all the steps to a waltz, which was more than could be said for a lot of members of their generation.  He could even fake his way through a few other dances, so long as no one expected him to be right about it.  He had a tendency to mess up his footwork, stepping left when he should go right, stepping back when he should be stepping forward.  It didn’t matter whether he was leading or not, there would always be a moment where he did the wrong thing and someone got their toes stepped on or their arm yanked in a direction they weren’t expecting to move in.

 

Anything with footwork was not Steve’s forte.  He wasn’t necessarily bad at rhythm, just at any dance that took thought and deliberately planned movements. 

 

Steve couldn’t dance with strangers.  It made him feel acutely awkward to have to touch someone he didn’t know, and if you added small talk on top of that, more often than not both parties were going down in a tangle of Steve’s feet, both of them tersely silent after Steve apologized.  It took Bucky a while to notice the trend, because Steve always danced fine with him.  He also danced well with Peggy.

 

(Steve _could_ grind. 

 

Fuck, could Steve grind.  Get some alcohol in him, and everyone had a really fantastic time, including Bucky.  Especially Bucky.  Bucky was one of the few people who had experienced this truth about Steve firsthand and hadn’t heard about it like some kind of urban legend people whispered about Steve Rogers.)

 

Bucky always let Steve take point.  It was one thing to understand how to move into the dance and how to also move with your partner.  There was an intuitiveness to dancing, and Bucky had that in spades.  Steve didn’t.  Steve memorized a few steps, could improvise a bit with his hands so long as he’d seen someone else do it, but for the most part was like a bull in a china shop with his clumsy need to get the steps right with no accounting for the flow of people around him, including the one in his arms.

 

It hardly mattered whether Steve could dance or not.  Most couples on the floor were just holding each other and swaying a bit, and Bucky could be aware enough of Steve’s body to get them out of any mishaps.  Not that he thought anything would happen swaying in place, but he could always divert Steve from accidentally stepping on his mother’s train or something.

 

He needn’t have worried about being appropriate (or inappropriate) being so close to Steve.  In his mind he’d seen dancing, suddenly being so bodily close to Steve, especially looking the way he looked, as being a temptation he couldn’t resist.  In reality it was like everything else they did together.  They danced.  Bucky enjoyed feeling every brush of their bodies together.  He felt charmed by having Steve’s hands on him.  They were mostly silent in a way that wasn’t awkward but was comforting, like Steve knew that Bucky needed a moment of quiet more than he needed to convince his relatives that they were a couple.

 

“I love you, you know,” Bucky murmured into Steve’s shoulder, moving slowly with his hand on Steve’s waist.  Sometimes it felt like Steve always knew what Bucky needed the most, even when Bucky couldn’t ask for it or didn’t understand it.  He could feel Steve smile against his hair, and Bucky was overwhelmed by just how right it was for him to be swaying on the dance floor with Steve in his arms, no one else – especially no other date – a weight on his mind.  He didn’t have to draw away from Steve at the end of the song to go find the person he came with.  Steve wouldn’t have to do the same. Steve was the only person who had his attention, and Bucky was the only person who had Steve’s.

 

It was all Bucky had wanted, and it made the whole ruse worth it.

 

“I love you too,” Steve answered, his fingers tightening slightly on the back of Bucky’s suit, helping to ground Bucky to the physical reality of how close they were.

 

Bucky lifted his head and looked at Steve.  There was a hanging moment of honesty between them before Bucky moved in, kissing Steve’s parted lips.  There were no pretexts, just Steve and the opportunity for Bucky to have this moment, to indulge in not only being honest with Steve for once, but honest with himself.  He could go back to being platonic, after, but he’d always remember the illusion of truth when Steve met him half way, holding on to Bucky in the same way it felt like he was holding on to Steve.

 

That feeling lingered after both of them pulled back enough to resume dancing.  It was almost too much for Bucky to face with his head resting against Steve’s shoulder, listening to his steady heartbeat thrum beneath his ear.  Usually hearing the steadfast sound of Steve’s heart beating in a strong rhythm, listening to the solid consistency of Steve’s healthy breathing, was enough for Bucky to relax, but neither of them returned to being as casual as they were before Bucky took the opportunity to kiss Steve.

 

He watched as mother said something to the DJ, and the next thing Bucky knew, dance music came on.  It was almost a relief to adjust his stance, to feel like there could be a deliberate reason for the way he and Steve were dancing besides taking the opportunity to not let go of his best friend.

 

“Bucky, no,” Steve said as Bucky slotted his thigh between Steve’s.  Bucky flashed him a smirk as Steve looked around the room with his eyes wide, taking in their potential audience before he looked at Bucky, knowing exactly what Bucky was planning.

 

Steve might not be able to waltz worth a damn, but Bucky had been in enough clubs to know that Steve could grind with almost wicked acuity.   If his mother thought that Bucky couldn’t maintain the illusion of closeness with Steve with dirty dance music on, then she’d never met either of them.  She didn’t know about Steve’s complete lack of shame or the way Bucky deliberately egged him on because watching Steve (metaphorically) let down his hair, his body language loose with alcohol or endorphins, was one of Bucky’s secret guilty pleasures.

 

Having the opportunity to indulge in it was like receiving a present.  It would be amazing.

 

“Steve, yes,” Bucky grinned, widening his eyes so he looked a bit maniacal.  “Let’s give them a show.”

 

Steve stared at him, weighing his sense of propriety against his need to go along with Bucky’s sense of mischief.  “Ok,” he conceded.  “But _end of the evening at Natasha’s holiday party_ show, not _end of the evening at Natasha’s Halloween party_ show.”

 

Translated: Natasha held insane parties, but by the end of the holiday party the two of them had gravitated towards each other and had been too tired to do much more than just mildly slot their hips together and dance.  What happened at the Halloween party was best left back on October 31st.

 

“Deal,” Bucky answered, and Steve’s hands came down to his hips.  Bucky curved his around Steve’s back, one reaching down to tuck into his back pocket.  The pants he was wearing didn’t have a back pocket, which helped remind Bucky that Steve wasn’t wearing his insanely tight party jeans, he was in a suit.  At Bucky’s mom’s wedding.  He hooked his finger through a belt loop and concentrated on moving his hips in time to the music.

 

If Natasha’s parties had one thing going for them, it was that every time he and Steve closed the evening by dancing together, it felt natural.  Bucky never felt like he was constantly thinking of where his hands were, and whether his ass was too close to Steve’s crotch when he turned, pulling Steve’s arms around his waist as he dropped his head back to Steve’s shoulder.  He never had to worry about whether or not to take the person he was dancing with to bed, because that person was _Steve_.

 

He felt awareness now, but only because he wanted everyone watching them to think that there was no way the two of them weren’t fucking on a regular basis.

 

Steve’s ability to dance in close quarters wasn’t just limited to when he was with Bucky, but when it was the two of them it usually transcended the music.  Bucky could feel it thrumming through his body, the need to allow it to take over a strong enticement.  He grinned as he watched his sister attempt to lure someone her own age out to dance, realizing as he looked around that most of the other people weren’t comfortable enough to get really close to their partners.

 

That meant there were more people watching the way Bucky twisted sinuously in Steve’s arms, sliding his hands into Steve’s hair, and slotting their lips together in the same heated rhythm their hips had picked up.  Everything felt molten, like the air around them heated from the crush of bodies in the room all at once.  They weren’t in a crowded club, though, they were dancing at a wedding reception, and still there was an illusionary heat building in the room.  Bucky thought that maybe it was just them.

 

Maybe he and Steve were generating enough heat between them for the sweat dripping down Bucky’s back and the arousal coiling through his bloodstream.

 

It was a frightening thing to think.  Facing the idea he fucking loved his best friend was one thing, but wanting to rub one off against him was quite another.  He knew he was hard.  He typically was from the friction of dancing, but the thought that it was Steve made him aching.

 

Steve brought his hand up, sliding it along Bucky’s elbow, until he traced a line up to Bucky’s hand.  He tapped Bucky’s fingers twice before Bucky let go of him, reluctantly, and wondering why it was so difficult to untangle his fingers from Steve’s hair and draw away.

 

There was an inkling of an idea in the back of his head that he ruthlessly pushed away that maybe, just maybe, this was a terrible idea because of how vulnerable it would leave him emotionally when facing the room of people, none of them aware that Bucky’s feelings were real, but his relationship was not.

 

“Come with me,” Bucky said, his fingers closing around Steve’s wrist as he led him off of the dance floor and towards the exit.  His first thought was to get away, fuck what other people thought they were doing, but the further he got the more he realized that it was a perfect visual.  Bucky Barnes: so worked up by dancing with his boyfriend that he dragged him away for a private moment.

 

“Bucky, people are going to think…” Steve pointed out as he followed, but that was as far as his protesting went.

 

“Oh, I know exactly what people are going to think,” Bucky promised him, giving him a slow, filthy smile just as they reached the doorway of the room, tugging Steve through the double doors.  “Do you have a problem with that?”

 

Steve shrugged and followed.  “Why would I?”

 

“Hold on,” Bucky told him, leaving Steve in the hallway as he ducked into the bathroom to see if anyone was already in it.  When he couldn’t spot any feet beneath the stall, he figured it was safe enough to try.

 

"Come here," Bucky said, grabbing Steve's hand and dragging him into the washroom with a quick yank of his wrist.  Steve stumbled after him, not the most graceful he'd ever been.  Once he was clear of the door, Bucky slammed it shut and locked it with an audible click.  “Let’s get the right angle on this.”

 

"What?" Steve questioned, as Bucky pushed him back against the door.

 

"I need you to run your hands through my hair," Bucky told him, falling to his knees.   Steve’s eyes were wide, but he did bring his hands up to Bucky’s hair, biting his lip in a way that told Bucky that he understood the basic idea. "Make it look really good."

 

Steve pushed his fingers into Bucky's hair, his face was a little red, but his fingers were gentle.  He immediately started to comb his fingers through Bucky's hair, which felt really nice, but kind of went against the point of this entire exercise.

 

“Steve,” Bucky whined in an aggravated tone.  "Am I gonna have to suck your cock for real for you to give me sex hair?"

 

Steve inhaled sharply at the words and Bucky looked up at him, tilting his face in a way that would allow Steve to see only his eyes.  Looking up the expanse of Steve’s torso was thrilling and made Bucky wish that Steve would say yes, to let Bucky pull him out of his pants and blow him.  He wanted it, the same way he wanted that kiss after telling Steve he loved him, in a way that was indulging things best left in his subconscious.  

 

“I don’t know,” Steve answered.  He’d gone a little breathless, so Bucky leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against Steve’s thigh, getting close enough to his dick that he was able to turn his head slightly and press his mouth against it if he wanted to.  Steve wasn’t hard, but the way his mouth fell open with shock, and his hands tightened in Bucky’s hair, Bucky thought he could easily get him there.  It was an empowering feeling, the idea that he could arouse his best friend, the guy who was so choosy about the people he had sex with that he and Bucky had a serious conversation about asexuality and demisexuality in their second year of university when Bucky was taking a Human Sexuality course.

 

“Do you want me to?” Bucky questioned, and his voice sounded thick, like he’d already had Steve’s cock in his mouth.  He ran his tongue over his teeth, and tried not to think too hard about what he wanted for himself, or why he was actually considering going through with something he’d only planned on faking.

 

“I don’t know,” Steve answered, a little lost, staring down at Bucky’s upturned face like he could find the answers there, and Bucky was very careful to keep his expression neutral.

 

“It’s ok,” Bucky murmured, his deft fingers pulling Steve’s carefully tucked shirt out of his pants.  He pressed his mouth against the trail of hair leading from Steve’s navel before moving his head back.  “I don’t know either.  There,” he told Steve, tucking his shirt back in with far less neatness than it originally had.  “You look properly debauched.  How’s my sex hair?”

 

Steve, because he was a horrible person even with all his innate goodness, gave one last sharp tug on Bucky’s hair, groaning and letting his head fall back against the door like he was actually coming.  All the while he stared down at Bucky with a smirk on his face, because he lived for moments like this where he took something so far that both of them were committed to it now.

 

God, Bucky really, really loved him.

 

In a best friend way.

 

Which completely belied how aroused he was at the image Steve had just planted in his head.  It was ok, he told himself.  He just had a very (untested) Pavlovian response to having his hair pulled.  Probably.

 

“It’s good now,” Steve answered him, still grinning as he helped Bucky to his feet.

 

“Great,” Bucky answered, squaring his shoulders as he reached for the lock on the door.  He knew he was about to step out to at least one person waiting outside the locked bathroom.  Hopefully, someone would recognise him and tell his mother.  Bucky’s plan was on multiple fronts, and it was so in-your-face that it was obnoxious.

 

But in truth, if he and Steve were actually dating, Bucky didn’t think he’d be able to last through the full reception without getting his hands all over Steve, not with how he looked in a suit and especially not with the way they’d been dancing.  His plan might look like too much from the outside, but there was a base truthfulness to it.  If Steve was actually his, Bucky’s behaviour would be a lot worse. 

 

There were a few people in the hallway who spared them a glance as they emerged from the bathroom dishevelled.  Bucky laughed a bit wildly as his eyes met his Aunt Phyllis’s as Steve reeled him back and pretended to try to fix his hair.  His aunt took one look at them, eyes spanning from Bucky’s hair to the way Steve’s shirt wasn’t tucked in properly, to the way Bucky was holding Steve’s hand, and did the closest Bucky had seen to a spit-take yet.  Her eyes got wide and she choked on champagne through her disapproval.

 

Then she looked around for someone to tell.  Ostensibly one of their mothers.

 

Sweet.  Mission accomplished.

 

“I can’t believe she was the one who caught us again,” Steve told him in a hushed tone, knowing full well that it was easy to overhear him.  He tried to straighten his tie with one hand.  Bucky caught sight of their reflection in a mirrored wall panel, and couldn’t help but shoot Steve a smug grin. The corners of Steve’s mouth were tight, and anyone looking at him would think he was giving Bucky a disapproving glare.

 

Bucky knew better.  Steve was close to breaking into a giggling fit.

 

“Let’s get back to our table,” Bucky said, wishing he had found some way to make his voice sound more destroyed than it did.  Selling a good blowjob story took attention to detail, and there was a part of him that knew that Steve would leave him with a raw throat and a voice that gritted and sounded painful.

 

He didn’t get a chance to speak with his mother, despite the fact that she did look in their direction a few times throughout the rest of the evening after they settled back at their table and just talked with each other in low tones.  He made sure to catch up with her before they left, only partially to find out whether the performance had been convincing.

 

Steve was getting the car they borrowed from Pepper, giving Bucky a moment to speak with his mom and allowing Sarah the chance to grab her wrap and say goodnight to the gentleman Bucky had noticed her dance with a few times.  He wasn’t looking forward to the drive back to Brooklyn in the back seat, wondering if Sarah was angry with him for debauching her son in public.  His own mother’s disapproval was exactly what Bucky wanted, but Sarah’s?

 

Bucky wasn’t sure he could take the hour long drive concerned about every lull in conversation, wondering if Steve’s mom was about to call him on his behaviour.  Bucky always had a weakness for the Rogers family and their way of commenting on his actions without words.  In all the defining moments of his life there had been three people: his mom, Steve, and Sarah Rogers.

 

Bucky wondered what it said about him that he would rather trick his own mother into believing that he and Steve were an item than to tell her that he needed the person there with him to not be a stranger.

 

“Bucky,” Winifred said, after Bucky had hugged her goodbye and turned to leave, already more concerned about what came next than he was about whether or not his mother believed him.  He was more or less resigned to the idea of Becca staying with them for the summer.  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said you were in a relationship with Steve.  You convinced me with the way you kept your hand on him all throughout the speeches,” his mother told him, grasping his hand towards her chest and looking at him, her eyes suspiciously sparkling with emotions.  “Your attention was on me the entire time, but you kept seeking out Steve’s touch.”

 

 _What?_ Bucky felt confused.  He hadn’t done that.  He tried to think back to the speeches, but all he could remember was how beautiful he thought his mom looked.  He had no idea what he’d been doing with his hands.  It wouldn’t worry him if that hadn’t been the selling point of this whole charade. After all the effort he put into it, after all the moments between Bucky and Steve that threatened to collapse the carefully maintained structure they had, the selling point had been something Bucky had done subconsciously.  Bucky didn’t know what to think about that.

 

“You’re so obviously in love,” she told him, leaning forward and kissing his cheek.  “I’m happy for you.  You and Steve,” she said, pulling back and grinning at him.  “There was a point where I thought it was possible the two of you would end up together, but we’re about a decade beyond that.  I’m proud of you, James.  Not many people can break the mould of decades’ worth of friendship and end up with the person who knows you best.”

 

For a bright, shining moment he wanted everything she described.  Bucky leaned in and kissed his mother’s cheek in return, running on autopilot.  “I should be the one congratulating you.  It’s your wedding day.” 

 

“Be as happy as I am,” she told him, grabbing his hand.  Bucky knew that if he didn’t leave soon, he’d be a sobbing, blubbering mess, and he definitely wouldn’t be able to keep the truth from her if that was the case. 

 

“I want to be,” he promised her.

 

Or was that a promise to himself?

 

He turned and the first person he saw was Steve, staring up at him from where he was helping his mother into the car.  Bucky thought of the fact that his relationship with Steve was the most believable when he wasn’t faking it or pushing it, and he thought of the look on Steve’s face at the beginning of the reception, watching Bucky walk towards him.  He thought about how his eyes immediately found Steve’s, even though they weren’t the only people leaving.  He could do that even in a crowded room.

 

He thought about what it would take to keep the promise to his mother to be as happy as she was.  That was the hard part, and not something he could conquer on his own.

 

x.x.x.

 

“It was a good day,” Steve said, moving from his relaxed sprawl on the couch into one that looked like he was preparing for something, most likely to get up and go to bed.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky answered, his head moving to look at Steve, blinking slowly through his own exhaustion.  He thought about happiness and remembered being cold, Steve’s hand hot against his cheeks as Steve yelled his name, and he considered all the things he’d done in his life that still weighed against his conscience.  Out of everything, the heaviest was the knowledge that Steve would be there beside him, even when Bucky had fucked up so badly that no one else was, even when Steve should have gotten up and left for his own safety, both literally and metaphorically.  It was a guilt he wasn’t sure he could ever atone for.

 

When he thought about being happy, he realized that the thing that would make him happiest was knowing that Steve was happy.  He thought about Steve’s face and the reedy quality of his voice, lost and confused when he told Bucky he didn’t know whether a blowjob was something he wanted, and knew Steve meant more than just Bucky’s mouth on his dick.  He thought of Steve tapping his fingers as an out, using their negotiated safe-word, even if neither of them had ever expressed it as such.  Bucky hadn’t thought to use it, but Steve had.

 

Bucky could wait until Steve knew for sure, even if that day never came.

 

He realized that they were looking at each other, both poised on the brink of saying something.  Bucky looked away first, aware of Steve getting to his feet and moving away from him.  Bucky felt like his heart was bursting through his chest, because Steve was the one who could be brave when he wanted to be.  Cowardice from Steve was the same as uncertainty, and Bucky knew he had to let him go, even when all he wanted to do was beg him to stay.  He just had to do was say a few words, but he couldn’t bring himself to be the one to do it.  “Thanks,” he finally mumbled.

 

Steve paused in his bedroom, one hand against the doorframe.  He was even more devastatingly attractive half-out of his suit, looking rumpled and tired from the long day of pretending to be Bucky’s boyfriend.  It had never been fair to either of them for Bucky to ask that of him.  He looked at Bucky, and there was something in his stance and the expression on his face that Bucky was sure he’d never seen before.  “Well.” Steve said with a sense of finality.  “Good night.”

 

“Good night,” Bucky answered.  His ears were buzzing and there was a lump in his throat as the door closed. 


	5. The one where Steve's art show doesn't blow but Bucky does

Bucky was a moderately talented engineer.  He was in the top 5% of his class, and he was clever.  He’d be considered a boon to any engineering firm that hired him, but instead he went with Stark International.  Stark offered more money, better projects, and a place on the team of experts he sometimes liked into drag into meetings with him.  Bucky would never know what his future could have held if he hadn’t met Tony while he was in college and brainstormed a project to conclusion with him over multiple bottles of vodka.

 

He certainly wouldn’t have been offered a position at Stark International right after graduation.  He wasn’t that good of an engineer.  Stark International only hired the top students, those who had shown innovation in the field before they even graduated college, and then he pitted those bright minds against each other in a competitive internship program, offering only a select few permanent positions.  Bucky hadn’t gone through any of that.  While his peers were working 16 hour days to come out on top, Bucky was sitting in a boardroom next to Stark International’s CEO.

 

No, there was a reason Stark hired him without putting him through the ringer, and it had nothing to do with Bucky’s skills in engineering.  He hadn’t been the top of his class but he was _very clever_ at picking up languages.  He was Tony’s ace for foreign meetings, and his pay reflected the fact that Tony kept dragging him into classified projects he had no business being involved with, just so Tony didn’t have to bring a translator.  He’d been _promoted_. 

 

That had been one of the benefits of growing up in Brooklyn like he had.  There were languages everywhere.  Steve, cross that he’d mangled French agreements during his Model UN club, had once told Bucky that sometimes it seemed like he stood in the middle of the street and absorbed all the sounds around him like a cyborg dissecting Earth Culture.  Bucky had figured that the wasp up Steve’s butt had started when no one on the team had wanted him to captain America and he’d had to take back France.  Fucking up the language was just icing on the cake.

 

Besides, the idea of being a language-absorbing cyborg wasn’t the worst.  Bucky kind of loved it.  Bucky may or may not have spent the time he was sober at college tutoring ESL students until the linguistic professors started to eye him covetously and weep when he refused to do much more than a minor.

 

Tony had loved it at 3 in the morning, both of them drunk in Bucky’s bedroom in his shitty apartment and staring up at the giant whiteboard they’d dragged in.  Tony asked ‘what time is it in the Ukraine? I need a consult.’  Then when his Ukrainian expert picked up and said something in Ukrainian, Tony had looked so dismayed the expression on his face made Bucky giggle, his forehead against the gross itchy carpet, and say, “he said, _‘I am very busy, Stark. Make an appointment’_.”

 

“You speak Ukrainian?” Tony had asked, clapping him on the back so hard it gave Bucky rug burn on his nose.

 

Two weeks later, Tony was saying “you speak Chinese?” in a tone that was more thoughtful than surprised.

 

So Bucky had known before he even accepted the position with Stark that it would sometimes drag his pride through the wringer.  He’d known that on days he was incredibly frustrated, he’d think about his resume and realize he was handed each and every accomplishment on it, and even if he moved on, he’d never be working on his own merits.   He knew that it would bother him, and that he shouldn’t let it.

 

He’d also known that he might be able to make it ok living in New York City on a starting salary at another company if his roommate was bringing in enough to cover his own rent, but Bucky never wanted Steve to be in the position where he had to find time for his art between part time jobs.  Steve was an artist first.

 

So Bucky could be an engineer second for a few years.  Steve never had to know.

 

x.x.x.

 

The thing about weddings was that they made everyone a little more romantic, a little more prone to sentiment.  It was easy to look at Steve and see all the bright potential there between them, and quite another thing to wake up the morning after with rationality chasing away the shiny halo of romance to leave behind the facts.  To Bucky, it was one thing to see Steve in his tux, to allow himself a day to feel every bit of potential of what they could be and to consider that maybe it could work, and quite another thing to _know._

 

Unfortunately, that softened life view wasn’t reality.  Reality was that Bucky felt so worn down by the daily grind of life sometimes that he struggled to hold on to his promise to not use drugs and alcohol as a crutch.  The reality was that Steve couldn’t be everything to Bucky and Bucky still walk away with his sanity intact.   He’d worked really hard on that distinction.

 

Life went on.

 

It helped, Bucky thought, that the moment the wedding was over, Steve’s focus shifted towards his upcoming art show.  Pepper and the Gallery Director they were working with had convinced him to hold a preview showing to hook affluent buyers into believing Steve Rogers was someone whose art would sell out quickly. 

 

Steve saying yes to the idea was the only input he really allowed either of them to have.  Sure, he listened to advice, but Steve was stubborn and exacting, and he had a certain measure of pride when it came to accepting help.  It was frustrating to watch him stress over the catering and the invitations when Bucky would have hired someone whose job it was to look after all of that.

 

Bucky wouldn’t even have had to hire someone to do all the finicky work for Steve.  Pepper was willing to sponsor it, and the original idea had been for it to very clearly be a party hosted by Pepper Potts.  It took Bucky three weeks of returning home to find Steve sitting at their very tiny desk space shoved into a corner of the living room, his hair in complete disarray from running his hands through it in frustration, before he finally convinced Steve that maybe this was something he didn’t have to do on his own.

 

Pepper taking over was kind of a coup de grâce for Steve, and Bucky had to put up with him sulking for the next week like a child who had a particularly damaging toy taken away from him.  It had been the same for Steve when he’d broken his arm trying to learn how to ride a bike.  Steve had tried to get right back on that bike because Steve was a stubborn asshole with no common sense.

 

And, like the bike incident, he totally blamed Bucky for it.

 

Bucky didn’t really give a shit if Steve wanted to sulk, but it did mean that when the day for the preview came, he deliberately decided not to show up while Steve was still preparing for it.  Both of them would be better off if they didn’t get into arguments based on their own stubbornness, where Bucky pointed it out to him and Steve threw him out.

 

So when Steve called, Bucky almost ignored it, but he never could fully avoid Steve.

 

“I’m ruined,” Steve said the moment Bucky picked up his phone, and Bucky almost fell off his chair from jolting backwards in response to the desolation in Steve’s voice.  Steve always had a certain amount of dramatics to him, but he was also genuine about the things that upset him, so for Steve to say ‘I’m ruined’ and sound dismayed about it, Bucky knew that it wasn’t something as minor as spilling paint on his good pants (again).

 

At least, Bucky assumed as much.  Occasionally, when Steve was more worried about something than he let on, he saw the absolute worst possible outcome of a situation and got really dire about his predictions. 

 

So, maybe it was more like Bucky was 45% sure something was wrong, but in the grand scheme of things, that was 45% more sure than he ever wanted to be about something bothering Steve.

 

“What’s wrong?” Bucky questioned, leaning away from the project he had laid out on his drafting table.  He swivelled his chair around so he couldn’t be tempted to keep picking at the pieces of it.  He didn’t have much time left before he was supposed to leave for Steve’s pre-showing, but he was in the middle of doing some finicky work that needed to get done before he could start the next phase of the project.  If Bucky could finish it before leaving for the day, he thought that having a fresh mindset when picking up his tools in the morning would help him finally make the breakthrough he’d been hoping for.

 

So, it was testament to how much he loved Steve that he picked up at all.

 

(and, really, maybe he wasn’t deliberately avoiding Steve).

 

“The caterer just called and cancelled. I promised to feed about 20 people today and I have maybe half a poptart here.  No, wait, I had that for lunch yesterday.”  Bucky could hear Steve breathing heavily over the phone, a hysterical laugh bubbling out of his throat.  “Bucky, it’s…”

 

“They called you instead of Pepper?” he questioned, already grabbing his work StarkTablet and Googling the company.  Before Steve could answer, probably with some comment about how it was _his event_ , Bucky moved on.  If Steve hadn’t been stubborn in the beginning, someone else could be dealing with this, but then that was Steve in a nutshell and Bucky wouldn’t change him for the world.  “Did they tell you why they cancelled?”  Before he got truly indignant on Steve’s behalf, he wanted to make sure the cancellation wasn’t because of something unavoidable, like a fire. 

 

He suspected douchery.  Maybe douchery and a fire.

 

“Something more important came up?” Steve phrased it like a question.  “It doesn’t matter why, what matters is I have no caterer.”

 

Bucky disagreed.  NO ONE was more important than Steve and launching his career.  “Leave them a bad review online,” Bucky suggested.  “And leave the catering to me.”

 

 _Leave everything to me_ went without saying.              

 

Steve laughed, and it had a bitter tinge to it.  Steve’s laughter should never sound like that.  “This is it, Buck,” he said, sounding resigned.   “I’ll only get the one shot at this.”

 

“That’s not true, no one ever gets just one shot.  You taught me that. Do you trust me?”

 

“You’ve never let me down,” Steve answered.  From most people, that wouldn’t be an answer, but from Steve it meant a lot more than the word _trust_ did.  “But they cancelled less than an hour before they were supposed to get here to set up, and I’m not naïve enough to think that you can find someone to replace the order in such short notice.”

 

Steve obviously underestimated Bucky’s own stubbornness.

 

“Ok, here’s what you’re going to do.  Get off the phone with me and call Sam and Natasha.  Tell them they are no longer guests, they’re now stand-in waiters.  Have Nat wear her red dress and Sam wear his red dress shirt.  Remember how they accidentally matched last Christmas?  We can use that to our advantage.  One of them needs to pick up three six-packs of variety local microbew from that liquor store a few blocks from your studio.  Have them also grab about two dozen of those mason cups they sell there – if we’re not providing classy dishware, at least we can look like we went deliberately kitschy. No red solo cups, you’re too old to be a frat boy. Get Nat to do it, she’ll know what I mean and it’ll take Sam longer to get ready. By the time I get there with the real catering, people might be thinking you’re eccentric, but they won’t think you’re unprepared.”

 

“Bucky, I…” Steve said, taking a deep breath.

 

“Stay calm,” Bucky told him, even though he was feeling exactly the opposite.  Steve didn’t have to know that Bucky’s decisiveness was just a front.  “Even without catering, you’re going to knock them away.  Now go call Sam and Nat, and let me work some magic.”

 

The first thing Bucky did was call Pepper, like Steve should have done the moment the caterer called him.  In fact, the caterer should have contacted Pepper directly, and it made Bucky fume that Steve had to cope with it instead.  He was dealing with enough as it was, organizing his pieces around his studio and doing all those last minute adjustments that even at his most prepared, Steve was likely to do. 

 

And they were likely to be the most brilliant parts, because some types of pressure Steve _excelled_ under.

 

“We have a problem,” he said the moment Pepper picked up the phone.  “A big one, considering the timeframe.”

 

x.x.x.

 

Pepper came through spectacularly, like Bucky had anticipated.  She only threw the weight of her own name around under circumstances she considered important, so the fact that she considered Steve important warmed Bucky’s heart considerably.  Pepper had always been one of the people he enjoyed spending time with, but his true measure of friendship had always been people who looked at Steve and _understood_.

 

Steve was the type of shining, special person that you did _everything_ for because he would do the same in return. 

 

“All in all I think it’s rather successful,” Pepper observed with a smile, taking a sip from her drink and watching Steve talk with one of the people who had just pre-purchased one of his pieces of art.  Steve looked in his element, happy and animated as he laughed and shook the man’s hand.  Bucky felt his chest warm at the sight.  “He looks like he’s enjoying this.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, smiling at Steve.  Steve picked that moment to look over, his face lighting up when he saw the two of them.  He waved briefly, moving on to speak to someone else.  Bucky’s heart clenched.  “Thanks for this.”

 

“Steve is talented enough that I would do it for him regardless of your exemplary service last quarter.  And,” she mused, “I like both of you enough as individuals that I think you and I have one more thing to do for Steve.”  She smiled at him, and despite the professionalism of her very appearance, it was a smile with more bite to it than he was used to from her.

 

“Yes,” Bucky agreed.  “We do.”

 

Pepper made her leave and Bucky wandered over the Steve’s side, noting the relaxed stance as Steve leaned back against a support pillar and took a moment to watch the room.  His eyes didn’t wander far from Bucky’s approach.

 

“Hey,” Bucky said when he reached Steve.  It was the first word he’d said to Steve since arriving that wasn’t with an express professional purpose for getting shit done.  “Is this what you expected?”

 

“It’s better than I expected.  Better, because I know what you pulled off for me,” Steve admitted, looping his thumb into Bucky’s belt loop in order to draw him closer.  “I’m fiercely glad for every moment you’re in my life.”  Steve’s words were quiet, grateful and intimate.  When he finished speaking he looked at Bucky for a moment, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his train of thought turned devious. 

 

Bucky could see it happening.  He always saw it happening.  It never quite prepared him for what was about to come.

 

“You know,” Steve mused, and he tugged Bucky a fraction closer.  “I’m sure half the people here think I’m your kept man.”

 

“Sounds archaic,” Bucky observed.  “You going to stand for that?”

 

Steve raised a single shoulder in a half-shrug.  “Maybe I like the idea of people thinking I’m yours enough that I don’t hate the concept.”  He was suppressing a smirk as he leaned forward and kissed Bucky, claiming him in front of witnesses.  Bucky realized Steve had done that right from the moment he’d pulled Bucky towards him.

 

“Really?” Bucky questioned in a suspicious tone after Steve pulled away.  Not even a kiss could distract Bucky from Steve’s entire fucking personality being almost completely self-sufficient. 

 

“No, I can make my own way, thanks,” Steve answered with sarcasm before turning and spotting someone staring at one of his pieces of art.  “I’ve spent enough time dallying with my boyfriend.  Time to get back to work.”

 

x.x.x.

 

It was a good indication of a place’s dedication to maintaining a place in contemporary New York if management took one look at Pepper Potts and immediately fawned all over her.  She’d been featured in a few business magazines over the past year, moving beyond the idea that she was Stark’s assistant and towards the fact that she ran the company.  Pepper hated all of those ‘the woman behind the man’ headlines, but it did help ease her way when she needed something done quickly without having to explain herself.

 

She looked like the powerful, confident woman she was.  Bucky had taken extra pains to match her when he dressed that morning.

 

So when the catering company took one look at her and practically stumbled over each other to make her happy, offering coffee and a sample of their dessert menu, Bucky took grim satisfaction in the way she shut them down completely.  “I’m here for the refund for the Rogers event yesterday.”

 

“We don’t typically give refunds,” the manager told Pepper, clearly hedging between the need to save face and to please her.   Pepper could reduce anyone into a gibbering mess with just an eyebrow. “Was the food not to your satisfaction?”

 

“We didn’t receive food,” Pepper answered in a cool tone.  “We received a cancellation phone call forty-five minutes before it was scheduled to arrive.  What wasn’t to our satisfaction was the explanation we received.  I wonder,” she questioned in a thoughtful tone, “what your company prioritized over my booking.  It’s suspicious, don’t you think?”

 

The man seemed to flutter indecisively between completely kowtowing to Pepper and running away.  The only time he had shown surprise was when Pepper spoke of her affiliation with Steve.  The rest of it was faked, and faked badly.  Bucky thought that if you were going to make poor business decisions, you should at least have the backbone to an asshole about it. 

 

“What was the explanation?” he questioned in a nervous voice.

 

“That a more important client came up,” Bucky answered, completely cold.

 

Bucky enjoyed seeing the way the man went pale at his words, looked at Pepper and turned red.  “I…” He stuttered, clearly at a loss for an explanation when Pepper’s expression wasn’t giving him anything.  Bucky wasn’t sure which of the two of them were more terrifying: Pepper’s cool efficiency or Bucky’s obvious anger.  “It must have been a clerical error.  We’ll cater your next event for free to make up for it.”

 

And that? That was enough for Bucky’s anger to gain claws.  Catering an event for Pepper Potts for free would be a very, very beneficial move that was so far into the man’s best interests that it wasn’t altruistic in the least bit.  The idea of his company _gaining_ reputation for this oversight was infuriating.

 

“No.  Suddenly it turns out Steve wasn’t an unimportant customer,” Bucky didn’t let little pissants who fucked Steve over off the hook.  “Just because you learn he’s good friends with Pepper Potts.  Well, buddy, prioritizing orders is an irresponsible way to run your business, and someone should take it away from you.”  He let the threat rest there between them.  “It was only a matter of time before you fucked over the wrong person, but that you did it to Steve Rogers?  I will personally see that this ends you.”

 

That was when Pepper smiled.  Pepper had an extremely warm smile for her friends, but in business situations when someone was trying to cross her, it was anything but warm.  “Fortunately for you, I have no desire to acquire a business with your reputation for Mr. Stark’s portfolio.”

 

“We have a great reputation…”

 

“Do you?” Bucky asked, drawing a finger gun on the man and winking at him before following Pepper out the door.  “I’d check Google reviews.”

 

Wow.  He regretted that.  He’d have to work on how to be threatening.  Pepper seemed to be thinking the same thing because she was giving him an unimpressed glance out of the side of her eye, lip twitching in amusement as they stepped on to the sidewalk.

 

“We take care of our own,” she told him, kissing his cheek before sliding into the town car idling on the side of the street waiting for her.  “You’re a frightening enemy to make, Bucky Barnes.”

 

Steve might get some satisfaction from leaving a bad review on the internet, but Bucky was far more vindictive.  The company didn’t think that Steve Rogers was important enough to prioritize, and it could have ruined everything Steve worked towards, halting it in one fell swoop.

 

Bucky was more than willing to ruin them in return.  He might have looked lame throwing out a finger gun, but his aim was sharp as ever.  “So are you, Pepper Potts.”

 

(One of the things Bucky appreciated about Pepper was, despite all her etiquette and manners, she never insisted on using his given name when speaking directly to him.  Bucky had once told her to call him Bucky instead of James, and she’d honored his wishes, no matter how many people thought his nickname sounded unprofessional.

 

In return, he never, ever referred to her as Virginia.

 

He thought the two of them might have a little club going on.  People with distinguished names who would just _rather not_.

 

It was catchy.)

 

x.x.x.x.

 

Bucky had been to Steve’s studio at least once a week since he started renting there after he finished college, trying to make it as a professional artist.  It was a large loft-space that had been renting out to artists for years, with large windows and good overhead lights.  Steve had his own block of space, a storage area in the back, and the freedom to use the common area for larger projects or different lighting.  It was cramped when all five of the other people renting the space were all there at the same time, but Bucky had only ever seen three at once. 

 

Someday, Bucky would love to see Steve having his own studio space, where he’d only have to wear headphones or ear plugs if he wanted to and not out of necessity.  He wanted Steve to get out of a situation where he’d occasionally drag himself home at night, shoulders slumped with stories about his pieces being ruined by water damage from the overhead skylight, or someone else’s negligence, or because of fucking mice chewing through the canvas.  That had been a particularly disheartening find for Steve.

 

Most of Bucky’s dreams for the future were for Steve and his success.

 

“It only makes sense, Buck,” Steve had told him the one time he’d admitted that.  “You’ve found your success already, so of course you want me to find mine.”

 

Bucky hadn’t said a thing to correct him.

 

He sat on the old plastic chair coated in paint situated in the corner of the room, idly kicking his foot against an empty packing crate and watching Steve as he worked.  It put him into a good headspace, seeing the way Steve effortlessly moved, lifting boxes that weighed almost as much as he did.  The dust coating his arms was mixing with his sweat, making him far dirtier than usual, and it turned out Bucky enjoyed the sight of it.

 

There were a lot of things about Steve that Bucky found his gaze lingering on these days.  Steve noticed, once, after he finished stacking one of the crates and met Bucky’s eyes, his face flushing as he realized what Bucky had been looking at.  Bucky wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not that after that moment Steve had been standing in ways that _helped_ rather than hindered his gaze.

 

“So what did you do to the caterer?” Steve questioned, wiping his hands off on his pants and looking at Bucky.  He had all the pieces that had been in the pre-showing packed, again refusing the help offered to move them all to the Gallery.  At least he allowed for professionals to come get them.

 

“Nothing,” Bucky responded, leaning towards Steve with a smile.  Steve’s attention might be a no-nonsense question, but Bucky still came alive for it.  He and Steve hadn’t spent nearly enough time together in the last month, to the point where Bucky would rather spend his night bored, playing on his phone while not checking out Steve’s ass, than be at home alone.

 

“Buck.”

 

It was the only thing Steve needed to say, the word laced with the idea of years’ worth of friendship and knowledge of each other.  Steve knew he was lying, because he knew how Bucky Barnes would react to Steve being fucked over.

 

“Pepper and I paid them a visit,” Bucky answered idly, picking at dried paint on the arm of the chair.  He smiled, slow and sharp.  “If they’re still open next year I’ll be surprised.”

 

“There’s no point convincing you I don’t deserve that level of retaliation.” 

 

Bucky thought of Steve saying _I’m ruined_.  He thought about Steve believing he only had one shot at this and how he must have felt to see it going down the drain.  He thought about how he’d been avoiding Steve and Steve had been avoiding him in return, and yet Steve had still called him the moment he needed help.  “You’re right, there’s absolutely no point of trying.”

 

Steve made a face at him, fond and exasperated, before getting back to work.

 

Bucky enjoyed watching as Steve went through his artwork with a critical eye.  His pre-showing had been enough of a success that the Gallery Director had heavily implied he should add a few pieces if he had them.  Steve had about ten years’ worth of work he’d already decided wasn’t good enough to sell, but sell it he would!

 

Steve was taking this ‘potential not to be a starving artist’ thing to heart.  As if Bucky had ever allowed him to be impoverished.  He made enough to cover renting their apartment whether Steve could make rent or not.  Working for Tony Stark allowed for that, at least.  Bucky could afford the apartment, Steve’s studio space, and to ensure they had food on the table.  Steve had experienced leaner years growing up.

 

Steve totally _was_ Bucky’s kept man.  The thought amused him for about five seconds before his stomach rumbled and he wondered if he should get food delivered or go pick some up from one of the places in the neighbourhood.   There was a fridge in the studio, but Steve rarely had food in it.  In fact, there was one Tupperware in there that Bucky was convinced was the same one he saw right after Steve moved in.  There were reasons Steve didn’t have a stockpile of food at work, and a lot of them had to do with rodents and scavengers, including the two-legged-and-stoned variety.

 

“Do you think I should keep this one?” Steve asked, revealing a painting done in dark colours that made Bucky’s nervous system go haywire.  He felt his stomach clench at the sight of it and he swallowed heavily to resist the urge to throw up.  It came on suddenly and made his head spin with instant dislike, the same it did every time he saw the piece.

 

Bucky had no idea why Steve kept it, but it clearly meant something to him.  Whether it meant something good or not, Bucky had no idea.

 

“Do you?” he managed to ask, doing his best to keep his response to himself.  He’d seen the artwork a few times over the years, and he was always confused as to how Steve felt about it.  It was kept as safe as possible, stored away in one of the crates Steve had invested in.  When the studio had the mouse problem, it was the one piece Steve had frantically turned to in order to make sure it was intact, but he refused to put it on display, refused to bring it into their house like he did for a few other pieces that he favoured.

 

Steve must have seen something on his face because he pulled the painting out of his storage room and looked between it and Bucky.  “You hate it.”

 

“God, yes,” Bucky responded.  “I’m sorry.  There’s something about that thing that really doesn’t sit well.  And the more I look at it, the more that feels like an understatement.”

 

“Oh,” Steve looked at the work carefully, his critical art eye taking in the painting with as much objectivity as he could manage considering it was something he created.  “It’s not my best work, but I’d been saving it for you.”

 

Saving it for him?  Why the fuck would Steve do that?  “It’s really upsetting, Steve,” Bucky blurted out and immediately felt bad for.  Obviously there was more there than he understood.

 

Steve nodded like that made sense.  “Yeah, ok,” Steve answered, putting it in the pile of paintings that were being shipped to the gallery.  “Done.  Maybe it’s best to let go of some things entirely.”

 

Bucky stared at the stack of paintings even after Steve moved on, confused about what it meant.  He thought to ask, but every time he looked at Steve there was a furrow between his eyes.  Either Steve was concentrating really hard or he didn’t want to talk about it.

 

“Greek food for supper?” Bucky questioned.  “Your treat now that you have disposable income.”

 

“Is it going to be my treat all year?” Steve questioned, and though his tone sounded cross, there was a smile on his face as he reached for his wallet. 

 

Bucky hadn’t managed to spend much time with Steve in the month since his mother’s wedding, was sitting in his studio watching him work just _to_ spend time with Steve, but all that melted away at Steve’s underlying contentment.   That Steve could offer him a few crisp twenties without pausing to consider how far it would set him back made Bucky want to hug him and say something cheesy about how Steve had _arrived_.

 

x.x.x.x.

 

Steve was absolutely gorgeous in his suit and tie, his hands completely clear of the paint and ink and other supplies he’d been coated in for the last week trying to get ready for his show, especially with the last minute additions.  Bucky knew how much scrubbing he had to do just to get to this point, his skin reddened from practically a layer of the epidermis scraped off.

 

You wouldn’t know it to look at him, looking so proper in his new suit.  It had been a gift from Bucky the night before, and while it wasn’t inexpensive, it wasn’t an expensive suit either.  He’d taken Pepper’s advice to see Steve in a tailored suit to heart, and it paid off when it looked like it was made for him.  Bucky’d paid more to have the jacket tailored to fit Steve’s insane proportions than he had on the pants.  It was worth it, though, to look at Steve and see the figure he cut, the impressiveness of the way his suit fit him like he was a powerful and influential individual.  There would be people at his showing who were there for the art, but there would be others who would judge Steve’s worth based on his looks.

 

So Bucky made sure his boy looked the part.

 

Bucky was aware of how fickle people could be about appearance.  He just wasn’t sure it was something Steve cared about.  Actually, he was positive Steve would be insulted to think that he’d sell pieces just because he was attractive.  If he even got a hint of that, he’d probably be dressed in a plaid shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the pair of jeans he’d had since tenth grade that didn’t reach his ankles.

 

Bucky took a sip of his microbrew and watched as Steve moved around people, stopping to chat with a smile.  He’d called in a favor with Pepper Potts when it started to look like Steve was going to make his big artistic breakthrough, asking her to give Steve pointers on how to deal with the minorly rich and famous.  Bucky could have done it himself, but his experiences were limited to situations washed down with copious alcohol and dulled to a haze through whatever drugs were on the table.  The main challenge had been getting Steve to ask Pepper for her expertise without him realizing that Bucky had set it up for him.

 

That was always the most challenging thing about Steve, Bucky considered with fondness.

 

Steve didn't lack talent, but that wasn't the only thing that got him where he was.  It was pertinacity, clear and simple, and yet more than that.  Steve was a talented asshole.  There was no denying the visceral reaction his art brought out in anyone viewing it.  Bucky had seen three people excuse themselves to go to the bathroom after viewing a piece, all different pieces for different people, only to return a few minutes later with reddened eyes or makeup flawlessly reapplied.

 

Talent was what would take him from this moment and carry him forward.  His stubborness was what got him there.  Steve didn't take no for an answer - rejection wasn't something he dwelled on.  Where most people would be disheartened, Steve just kept moving forward.

 

Bucky didn't know how he did it.  He was so proud of Steve, the sensation welling beneath his breastbone and manifesting itself in a smile he couldn’t entirely wipe off his face.  To see these people all celebrating what Steve could do made Bucky feel a fierce sense of rightness, because Steve was _amazing_ , he’d always known Steve was amazing since the first moment he could remember realizing that Steve was his own person and not an extension of Bucky playthings.

 

It also made him feel a little jealous, not in a concrete way, but there was an ephemeral sense that Steve had places to go, an unexplored future with something he loved equally, or even more than he loved Bucky.  He would meet new people, find new opportunities, and he wouldn’t be able to take his best friend along for all of them.

 

Bucky stood in Steve’s art show and realized that this could change things far more than the wedding had.

 

Steve deserved it.  Steve deserved so much more than Bucky, as a single person, could ever give him.  Bucky knew, rationally, that didn’t mean that Steve didn’t need him. As he stared at Steve standing against the brick wall of the gallery, the lights designed to show off the art around him, but also succeeding in bringing out the best subtleties of Steve, Bucky wanted him to have _everything_.

 

Steve saw him watching him from across the floor, his entire being lit up and he reached a hand towards Bucky, his fingers closing around air, like there was an invisible string between the two of them and Steve could manipulate it to drag Bucky towards him.  The way Bucky automatically started across the room towards Steve made that theory just a bit credible.

 

Bucky walked forward, reaching Steve just in time to hear Steve say “this is my boyfriend Bucky,” to the most recent person who wanted to congratulate him on his art.  Bucky smiled, friendly, but took a step back from the limelight and allowed Steve to work his magic, because everything around them was Steve.  Steve’s talent, Steve’s charm, Steve’s shoulders in that suit.

 

Bucky was overwhelmed by it.

 

And loved every second of it.

 

x.x.x.

 

Bucky, left to entertain himself for hours, ended up standing in front of the painting Steve had offered him and still felt uneasy about it, as though he knew what it was, even though it was one of the most abstract pieces in the collection.  It didn’t speak to him, not in a way where he was taken with the painting.  If anything, he experienced such a negative, visceral sense of vertigo when looking at it, that he was the opposite of taken with it.  It was still fascinating in a way, trying to learn the strokes involved to find what it was about this particular piece of art that made him want to throw up.  As an engineer Bucky understood the components that made a whole, but art?

 

Art baffled him.

 

He thought maybe if he could understand the _how_ of the work, he could understand _why_ it made him want to run away from it.

 

He’d watched Steve create pieces from start to finish and he still didn’t understand how the finished product came to fruition.  He was perfectly willing to put the entire thing down to Steve’s genius brain.  He cocked his head to the side to check the piece at a different angle.  Steve would never allow one of his pieces to be hung upside down but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t strategically display something from a different perspective.

 

Bucky could still remember the time when they were teenagers and he walked in on Steve painting a vase of flowers from his mother’s dining room upside down.  He’d walked over and turned the canvas over, thinking himself inordinately clever for fixing something Steve was struggling with.

 

Steve had almost killed him with his palette.

 

Yeah, Bucky didn’t get art, but that was ok because Steve clearly did.  Steve understood it so well, the piece in front of him was selling for ten thousand dollars, a higher price than any of the other works in the gallery.

 

If it sold, they’d never have to eat Kraft Dinner again.  Unless they wanted to.

 

Or, at least for the rest of the year.

 

 **OR** , if Bucky quit his job to live on the couch and figure out his life, they’d be covered for about two and a half months.  Two and a half months wasn’t much in the scheme of things.  Bucky wasn’t sure why he looked at something worth 10k and thought they were set for life.  _That was ridiculous_.  At the same time, set for life meant something very different in a landscape where two people lived together and only just managed to make it every month.

 

He was too busy reflecting on all of this to notice he was being approached until it was too late to get out of the conversation.  “There’s such a raw sexuality to this piece, don’t you think?”

 

Bucky thought the opposite.  He knew that the description of Steve’s work had words like raw and sexuality in it, but if anything this painting was completely raw and with absolutely no sexuality to it.  But then, Bucky recognised the line for what it was: a line.

 

Yeah. No.  Not happening. Bucky couldn’t think of anything worse than someone using Steve’s artwork to pick him up. Yuck.  Except, maybe, using this particular piece.  “I don’t see it,” Bucky responded, tilting his head to the side and doing his best not to sneer and walk away.  “But then I’m a fan of the artist’s, not art itself.”

 

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

 

Bucky tried to remind himself that he’d promised Steve that he would do his best to talk him up, especially to the assholes Steve didn’t have the patience to schmooze.  Bucky spent his life talking with people who thought they were better than he was, especially now that his job consisted more of walking into a board room next to Pepper than it did working on his own projects.  Bucky had always been good at talking people into spending money on him in exchange for a smile – it had been one of the things that got him into trouble when he was a teen.  He could talk anyone into giving him what he wanted in exchange for very little.

 

Bucky had skills.

 

It seemed wrong to Bucky to flirt with someone when Steve was standing on the other side of the room, holding his drink as a prop as he spoke with someone interested in purchasing his art for their townhouse.  He promised Steve he’d have his back when it came to being social, but Bucky wasn’t sure he could have this conversation.  It felt disloyal, even if it was for Steve’s benefit.

 

He closed his eyes for a second to steel himself for the task.  He could sell himself, or he could sell Steve.

 

“That depends,” Bucky answered in an amused tone, gesturing towards Steve and lowering his voice.  “On how much raw sexuality you think he has.  Do you think he poured all of it into this painting?”

 

“I think I can see where he gets his inspiration from,” the man responded, smiling at Bucky with very clear intent.  “They say that behind every great piece of art there’s a 20-year-old.  Tell me, how far do you support this… Steve Rogers?”

 

“That’s not what that saying means, asshole,” Steve responded, suddenly right next to Bucky.  He had his face-of-justice on and looked to be seething at the insult against Bucky’s virtue, which was completely laughable. 

 

Bucky was always capable of fighting his own battles, but sometimes it was entertaining to let Steve do it for him. 

 

Now was not one of those times.  “It’s ok,” Bucky said, touching Steve’s elbow and hoping to defuse the whole thing.  “We were bantering.”

 

“It’s not ok,” Steve answered, and he was definitely geared up for a fight.  Bucky looked around the room and met eyes with Natasha.  Nat seemed to understand the way Bucky tilted his eyebrows, or maybe she read Steve’s body language, because she immediately started towards them.  “It means that innovative pieces are typically created by someone in their twenties, not that…”

 

“OKAY,” Bucky said in a louder tone just as Natasha got between the two of them, all faked smiles as she interrupted and diverted the potential buyer’s attention. Possibly with her boobs.  Definitely with a smile he wouldn’t learn was fake until afterwards.  “We’re going,” he hissed at Steve, dragging him into the Staff Only area and through the doorway of the private washroom inside.  “You need to cool off.”

 

“That guy was a dick,” Steve snapped.  “He propositioned you in a room full of people.”

 

“I can handle it.”

 

“He propositioned you in front of _my_ painting,” Steve answered, as though it was a grievous offense.  There was an undertone of possessiveness that had Bucky’s eyebrows winging up in surprise.

 

“Do you think of me as yours too?” Bucky questioned, pitching his voice as low and seductive as he could through his surprise.

 

Steve halted abruptly, his tirade cut off by his disbelief, mouth gaping open where he was preparing to talk and his eyes becoming suddenly aware of the conversation they were having.  Then he regrouped.  “Yes,” he hissed.  “You’re my _boyfriend_ , everybody _knows,_ and…”

 

Bucky moved forward and kissed Steve, his momentum propelling the two of them into the wall.  He could feel all six-plus feet off Steve pressed against him, muscles completely tense.  It was like kissing a wall with lips, even if Steve paused his tirade to kiss him back.

 

Practice was good for something.

 

“In a room full of other _potential buyers_ ,” Steve said, wrenching his mouth away from Bucky to point out.  If Steve was capable of it, he’d be outright hissing in fury.  “And _your friends_.  I’m going to go back out there and _physically remove him_ from the room.  I don’t want that _type_ of person _buying_ my art.”

 

Yeah.  That wasn’t going to happen.  Bucky took a moment to critically access Steve before coming up with a solution.  It was daring.

 

But if Steve wanted to call Bucky his boyfriend, then there was something a boyfriend would do for him in a moment like this.

 

Bucky sank to his knees.  

 

“You’re wound up,” he murmured, looking up at Steve as he reached for his belt.  “You’ve started snapping at people who are being friendly.  I bet I can help you feel relaxed and sociable.  Put a smile on your face.”  He mouthed at Steve’s crotch, taking a moment to run his lips over the soft material of the suit before he pulled down Steve’s zipper.

 

“I don’t think a fake blowjob is going to do the trick,” Steve answered him, tone just as tense as his shoulders where they were pressed against the wall.  “Fuck,” he said, his head banging back against the wall, his legs spreading slightly.  It was already an improvement.  “Bucky, you’re just going to make me more wound up.”

 

“Who said anything about fake?” Bucky questioned, wetting his lips before he blew a gust of air against the front of Steve’s boxer briefs.  Steve hummed a little in question, curious, as Bucky peeled those down as well.

 

Steve inhaled sharply.

 

“Well look at that,” he hummed, pleased, as he realized Steve was partially aroused already.  “You like the idea of having me on my knees with all those people out there already heaping attention on you.  Tell me you want me to, Stevie.”

 

“I…” Steve answered, staring down at him agape.  “Buck…” then, because Steve had never chickened away from anything in his whole goddamned life, he nodded.

 

Fuck. 

 

 _Fuck_.

 

 ** _Fuck_**.

 

Bucky took his time, allowing himself the time and luxury to explore Steve’s taste, slowly kissing and licking each inch of exposed skin.  He knew Steve’s hang-ups, and he knew that even if it took so long that it was obvious what the two of them were doing, he’d take the care to make sure that Steve enjoyed every second of this.

 

Steve seemed to have less evident problems getting out of his mind and relaxing into enjoying the blow job than Bucky expected, his fingers tightening into fists where they were clenched next to his thighs, his head thrown back and mouth opened as he tried to breathe through the small, needy sounds emerging from his mouth.

 

Holy shit.  Bucky never thought this would happen, and yet he felt like somehow he _knew_ it would be like this, Steve giving himself over entirely.

 

When Bucky went down on Steve in earnest, he felt like he couldn’t breathe more through his sudden arousal at the sound of Steve groaning in pleasure than the heavy feeling of Steve’s dick in his mouth.

 

It hadn’t been a long time since Bucky had given someone a blowjob, but he felt sloppy and out of practice with the pressure of knowing he might only get this one chance to blow Steve’s mind.  He used his hand, holding Steve’s thick erection and leisurely pumping his fist as he caught his breath, heady with everything.  He almost groaned when he allowed his gaze to span up Steve’s body, taking in the way his shoulders were shaking and his head was back, long neck exposed.

 

As if sensing that he was being watched, or maybe questioning why Bucky had all but stopped, Steve’s gaze met his.  It was like being punched in the gut.  The moment their eyes locked, Bucky could feel the way almost every cell in his body alight with heat, like the air in his lungs had combusted and left him aflame.  Trite, but true. 

 

They looked at each other for a moment before Bucky leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as he took Steve’s cock into his mouth again.  Steve made a shocked, pleased sound, staring at him with his mouth lax and his breathing harsh.  “God,” he said in a wrecked tone.

 

Bucky hummed in response.  That’s right, Stevie, he thought with sharp sense of accomplishment and conceit, fierce with pride as Steve head fell back against the wall and his breath came in sharp pants.  It barely took much work after that for Steve to come, completely turning himself over to Bucky’s mouth and letting go of the pressure of the outside world for a moment.

 

The sense of accomplishment was a heady thing, profound and glorious as Bucky sat back on his heel and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  They hadn’t exactly been safe, but if he caught something from Steve that was something he’d be willing to live with.  He knew that his last test results were clean, and that was the important part.  He took the time to tuck Steve back into his pants, running his tongue over his teeth.

 

“How was that?” Bucky questioned, getting to his feet and swaying for a moment into Steve’s solidness.  It was less because he’d lost his balance getting up so quickly and more because he was feeling just as vulnerable as Steve probably was.  Steve’s arms came around him, his hand brushing through Bucky’s hair.  The hug wasn’t more than they usually did, but it came with a sense of awareness that Bucky still had the taste of Steve in the back of his throat, his mouth red and dampened with his own spit.  It was more post-coital than anything he’d ever experienced from Steve, or expected to experience with Steve.

 

Steve’s nose edged around Bucky’s ear, each exhale more of a hum of contentment.  “Good,” he breathed finally, laughing slightly.  “It was good.  I don’t know if I can move just yet.  My legs feel like jello.”  Despite that, he was still supporting Bucky’s weight.

 

“Yeah?” Bucky questioned in delight, realizing that Steve wasn’t just nuzzling into his hair line, he was also breathing him in.  Bucky’s arms tightened reflexively at the thought.  Steve Rogers and all his sweet, cuddly glory.  “Feel more relaxed?”

 

Bucky wasn’t necessarily a cuddler, but the prolonged hug felt good.

 

“I’d be much more relaxed if I knew you weren’t out there tenting your pants,” Steve answered, his hand wandering down Bucky’s front.

 

Oh no.  If Steve even tried to touch his dick, Bucky wouldn’t be able to resist.  They’d already spent too much time hidden away. Bucky stepped back quickly, putting space between them and approaching the sink so he could splash water on his face.  “I can take care of it myself.”

 

“The point is you don’t have to.” Steve moved behind him, his front warm against Bucky’s back.  Despite everything, Bucky found himself leaning back into Steve’s touch, unable to resist him again.

 

Bucky snorted at those words, watching in the mirror as Steve’s hand smoothed down his chest, clever fingers unbuttoning his pants.  “Do you want to watch like this?” Steve questioned, pressing his lips against Bucky’s neck as he spoke.  His grasp around Bucky’s erection was tighter than he usually preferred, but just highlighted the difference between himself and Steve, and it felt like coming home. “Or,” Steve hummed in thought, and there was a mischievous glint to his eye that would normally have Bucky worried but now just made his breath catch in anticipation.  Steve’s fingers moved to his hip before he used his grip to turn Bucky around, pressing him back against the sink.  “I could return the favour.  You’ll need something to lean against,” Steve promised, sliding to his knees.

 

“Jesus,” Bucky hissed as Steve took him into his mouth with very little warning.  From then, all Bucky could really do was lean back against the sink and stare at Steve’s head, watching the tantalizing glimpses of his mouth moving up and down on his cock and feeling every second of movement.  His mind wasn’t turning off and enjoying it so much as it felt like every synapse was sparking to light in pleasure, and most of it wasn’t because of a common blow job but because of who was doing it.

 

If Steve had felt even remotely like this when Bucky had gone down on him, it was no wonder he’d clung to Bucky afterwards, needing grounding. 

 

“Christ,” Bucky said, knees giving out from under him when he came.  He almost slid to the floor, Steve doing his best to keep him upright.  “Christ, Stevie.  Fuck, I…” he laughed, eyes wild as he dragged Steve back up against him, kissing him and.  “Fuck.”

 

“You’re the one who taught me to do that,” Steve said, voice warm in his ear as he partially supported Bucky, straightening his clothes out.  “Figured you should experience it at least once.”

 

Jesus.

 

x.x.x.x.

 

Steve was all smiles, and was immediately forgiven for his disappearing act. It wasn’t that most people didn’t take one look at him and _know_ , it was that _knowing_ made him all the more appealing.

Bucky made himself scarce, aware that if he stayed next to Steve his hand would drift over as though he was touch starved and needed to feel Steve, from the calloused skin on his hands to the soft wool of his suit to the smooth underside of his wrist beneath the cuff of his watch.  Touch starved wasn’t far from the truth, but the perception it would give would not reflect well on Steve’ professionalism.

 

He took a drink of champagne, chasing away the taste of Steve’s skin with the sweet, effervescent taste. 

 

His feet brought him back to the one place he’d feel more comfortable avoiding.

 

“I hate this piece,” Bucky said after Pepper came up beside him, pausing to look at the canvas on the wall.  They were both observing it with a critical eye, though he was sure that Pepper understood more of what she was looking at than he did.  Every time he brought up how uncomfortable the piece made him with Steve, Steve gave him this look that Bucky couldn’t place.  It seemed like betrayal, but this wasn’t the first art Bucky hadn’t enjoyed, and Steve always considered the fact that his best friend didn’t share in his interest to be something frustrating and annoying, but not something to be wounded by.

 

No, there was something Steve wasn’t saying about the piece.  Bucky just couldn’t figure out what it was.

 

“That’s not surprising,” Pepper observed, turning to look at him.  “Steve told me he painted it in 2009.  Desolation rarely makes people feel comfortable.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky felt the chill run down his spine, nerves shivering as he looked at the painting again.  No wonder Steve had offered it to him.  Bucky knew what the painting meant; at least the emotions behind it.

 

“It does mean something to you now, doesn’t it?” Pepper questioned, watching him closely.  Bucky was scared that she’d ask what it meant, and though she knew enough about who Bucky was in 2009 to make an educated guess, he didn’t want to share the story with her.  Pepper seemed to understand that, either through the expression on his face or her own compassion, and instead turned to tap her finger against the subtle price tag next to the painting.  It hadn’t sold yet, either because of the dark themes or the high price Steve had given it.  “You’ve been with Stark International for three years and your recent promotion affords you a few perks.  Do you want to spend your redecorating budget now?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky gave her a terse nod of thanks.  If he went to Steve and asked for the painting, he knew Steve would give it to him, but for some reason he didn’t want Steve to know that he’d figured out the subject matter.  Steve had seemed relieved that Bucky didn’t know, even through all the looks of dismay and attention Steve seemed to direct towards him when Bucky stared at it too long.  “I need to,” he said, pointing his thumb towards Steve.  His voice came out rough from bottling his emotions.

 

Or.  Bucky supposed there were other reasons for his voice to be rough.

 

“We’re the sum of our parts, you and I,” Pepper told him.  “But we don’t let them define us.  Remember that.” 

 

Bucky knew that.  He’d fought hard to learn that in the months after 2009, and while he’d been trying to get out of the darkness, Steve had been painting it with a hopelessness and a rage that was clear in every stroke of the piece.  Bucky had tried so hard not to make Steve his emotional crutch, and it felt like a failure when something like this happened to throw him. 

 

All he wanted to do was find Steve. 

 

Steve was standing across the room, looking tired but happy as he smiled at a couple leaving the showing.  Bucky immediately headed over to him, tucking his hand into Steve’s and leaning against Steve’s arm in a line of solid contact.  It wasn’t to sell their relationship, but because he needed the comfort of touch.  Steve had created that painting with the hand Bucky was holding in his, and Bucky hoped that transferring all that pain he had caused to the art work had been enough for Steve.


	6. The one where they're sharing a bed and nostalgia is a boner killer

They wouldn’t not acknowledge it, Bucky knew, even if it would be easier to put their heads in the sand about the _mutual blow job exploration experience_.  Steve was very much direct about things, all things, including the politeness of acknowledging the fact he had Bucky’s dick in his mouth.  And Bucky had learned a long time ago that some words were better off out in the open.

 

So, they were going to have a _conversation_.

 

Bucky considered that for a long time, lying in his bed and staring at the ceiling, thinking about the fact that Steve was right on the other side of the wall.  He couldn’t help but hope that Steve’s night was equally as sleepless as his was.  Bucky’s night wasn’t only sleepless out of worry and concern over the implications of the _mutual blow job exploration experience._ Other things were on his mind, like how often Steve took to his painting to cope with the mistakes Bucky had made, and how often he had tried to talk about it only for Bucky to accidentally shut him down by pointing out how uncomfortable that particular piece of art made him.  Of course it made him uncomfortable.

 

…but mostly, the thing keeping him awake was the sensory memory of the weight of Steve’s dick on his tongue, the way the size of him fit in Bucky’s mouth, and the slowfastslick slide of it.

 

Fuck.

 

_Fuck._

 

Fuck. There was no coming back from that.  So Bucky spent the night in a state of half-hard arousal and apprehension.  It didn’t help that it felt like summer finally hit, rolling in on the tail end of the hottest experience of Bucky’s life.  He slept fitfully closer to dawn, finally rolling out of bed when he heard Steve moving around in the kitchen and surprised to find it was later than the usual time Steve woke up.

 

He knew the moment he emerged from his bedroom to find Steve slumped over his coffee still in his pajamas that Steve was in the same state he was.

 

Steve looked up and their eyes met.

 

“Thanks for getting me through last night,” Steve ruefully said, taking a big swig of his coffee.

 

No preamble. 

 

No build up.  Just Steve coming right out with it.  He didn’t put any infliction on the words to give them significance, but both of them knew exactly what Steve was talking about.

 

It was so very Steve that it made Bucky smile even though his insides were doing cartwheels.

 

Steve rubbed his hand through his hair and yawned, but his eyes were alert when he looked at Bucky.  His face wasn’t doing that expression he made when he was talking about something through sheer obstinacy, so Bucky took it as a good sign.  “I was starting to get antsy and ready to pick a fight, even though I promised myself not to react to potential buyers.  No matter how much they were assholes.”

 

“That’s what I was there for,” Bucky reminded him and went for his own coffee.

 

Steve looked tired.  His mouth turned up in a smirk, but there wasn’t much weight behind it. “Now you know a new way to shake me out of that mindset.”

 

Bucky, still not awake enough to censor himself, dragged his eyes down Steve’s body and bit his bottom lip.  Maybe, even if he was awake, he would have done it anyway just to see if Steve’s cheeks would flush as a reaction.  Instead Steve met his gaze with an unperturbed stare of his own.  “I’ll add it to my repertoire,” he promised in a dry tone.

 

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that,” Steve responded, deeply honest and direct.  “I enjoyed it, Buck.  **_I_** enjoyed it,” he repeated with the added emphasis.  “But it’s just… it felt nice.”

 

There was a vulnerability in the way Steve’s voice choked on the word nice.  It wasn’t confusion necessarily, not with Bucky, but maybe with his body.  His body’s reaction to Bucky, maybe.  He sounded like he never expected to be able to say that after a first try, even with Bucky, and wasn’t sure what to do with that information.

 

“Ok,” Bucky answered, and he felt both rejected and enlightened at the same time.  He knew Steve more than anyone else did, so he also knew that when Steve wanted something, he found a way to get it, or at least be honest about his desire to pursue it.  When he didn’t want something, he was direct about that as well.  It was when he was unsure that he did neither.  Those were the points where it was best to allow Steve to learn his own mind.  “It did feel nice.”

 

Steve seemed to relax over his coffee, his shoulders slumping in a way that really emphasized how much tension he was holding in them.  Bucky had thought Steve was tired, and he was clearly worn out, but there’d also been some underlying worry that he was holding on his shoulders.

 

Bucky sighed in response, reaching over and digging his thumb into the spot along Steve’s spine that held tension.  Steve didn’t pull away, which was also a good sign, and a possibility Bucky hadn’t been aware of until he noticed it hadn’t happened.  “If you ever want to keep exploring it, let me know.”

 

“You said,” Steve blurted out, “that you didn’t want to be casual about relationships anymore.”

 

Bucky paused, stilled, feeling as though every hair follicle in his body stood up and he became very aware of his own skin.  He wasn’t sure if it was a fear response or euphoria.  “You are the only person in the world I feel like this can be easy with.  We’ve always been everything else to each other, so why not sex?”

 

“So why not?” Steve echoed, thoughtful.

 

Bucky wanted him to understand.  “It’ll never be casual, though, Steve. Not like that.  But I think it can be simple.”

 

“Simple?”

 

“Everything else is easy between us, so why not this?  Why does it have to be complicated? We’re best friends who sometimes blow each other.”

 

Steve gave him a deadpanned, unimpressed look.  “That sounds a lot like two people in denial.”

 

“I fucking love you, Steve Rogers,” Bucky said with bald-faced honesty.  He could feel his heartbeat pick up and his adrenalin kick in, but he’d always had only slightly more levels of self-preservation than Steve.  “I’m not in denial about anything.  Are you?”

 

The expression on Steve’s face was worth the risk.  “I…” he started, and then stopped talking, a frown appearing between his eyebrows.  “I’m going to need time to think about it.”

 

That was as good as admitting that yes, he kind of was in denial, and even though this was a serious conversation with serious implications, Bucky wanted to smile over that.  Stubborn Steve Rogers, not able come right out and admit it.

 

“Sure,” Bucky said, in a surprisingly congenial mood because it felt like he’d just won something.  “You know what? Last night was a big deal for you, let’s focus on that. Congrats on being a successful artist and on getting your dick sucked.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve answered in a wry tone.

 

“I’ll treat you for supper,” Bucky continued, just the slightest bit flirty.  “Bring you somewhere fancy.  You can invite one of your friends if you need a buffer so this doesn’t come off as a date.”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Steve answered.  “And I’ll treat you.  I owe you so much and I have money now.”

 

“Now who’s being stupid? We’re celebrating you tonight.” Bucky patted Steve’s shoulder, taking a sip of his coffee.  “Treat me every night for a week if you want, but not for this.” 

 

“Fine,” Steve grumbled.  Smart men knew when they weren’t going to win an argument, but that was a level of intellect Bucky rarely expected from Steve.

 

The supper plans weren’t just for the two of them, and they never were.  Bucky couldn’t let go of his teasing remark, and he’d been hoping to keep the reservation as a secret.  He’d invited Steve’s mom, Natasha, Sam, Pepper, and basically everyone and anyone he thought had a stake in celebrating Steve’s success.  He kept a space empty and set up Peggy over Skype at an angle where she and Steve could see each other.

 

Because that was what a best friend did for the person who mattered the most to him in the world.  He celebrated, even when he didn’t feel like celebrating. 

 

Bucky was feeling on top of the world.  Steve might be the successful one, but Bucky felt like Steve’s success was his own.

 

“Oh,” Steve said in surprise, a small, pleased smile on his lips as everyone at the table stood and clapped for him the moment he walked into the restaurant.  He ducked his head slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at all of them, his smile growing wider as his gaze met Bucky’s.  Steve quirked his eyebrows at him, saying _really? You did all this_?

 

Bucky shrugged, grinning as though to respond _well, what are you going to do about it? You can’t stop us from thinking you’re great._

 

What they didn’t acknowledge was the painting.  Bucky had no idea how to bring it up, especially now that Steve thought it was gone for good.  It was easier for Bucky to bring up the _mutual blow job exploration experience_ than it was to say ‘hey, remember 2009?’  The thought of it made him itchy.

 

The fact that the painting was being installed in Bucky’s office made it a constant reminder that he and Steve might not be the fantastic communicators they seemed to be.

 

x.x.x.x.

 

One of the perks of Bucky’s job was that people were always giving Tony Stark shit, and Tony hated being handed stuff, even metaphorically.  Some of it went in the trash, some of it went towards employee incentives/rewards, and some of it Pepper just handed over to Bucky with a sigh, like she knew she was playing favourites but didn’t want the hassle of figuring out how to not give it to Bucky.

 

So when the table reservation for an event at The Box landed on his desk, Bucky knew where it came from.

 

He snapped a picture of it with his phone and sent a tweet out to Steve and Peggy, an in-joke between the three of them that was way too complicated to explain, but had to do with boxes and hipsters, and the irony of how it was unedgy the moment it was edgy enough to be _the place to be_.

 

The fact that they had this conversation during their college years made the tickets more nostalgic than anything else.

 

The tweet went out.

 

Seconds later he got a call from Steve, which might be a new record and definitely showed that Steve was kind of at a loss of what to do with his time now that he was a famous artist.  He spent the first week using the residual frenetic energy from the showing to start new projects, replacing the large piece that used to hang above their television with something that made Bucky feel horny every time he looked at it, like Steve was now pouring all of his sexual frustration into his art instead of his political frustrations. 

 

…and, well… he probably was, but it was making Bucky think about sex and Steve all the time, and Steve had run out of inspiration and was now coming home from his morning jog, showering, and putting on sweatpants.  Bucky didn’t really resent Steve for taking time off, but he did kind of resent the hell out of those pants. 

 

Especially when Bucky was at work, on the phone, and thinking about Steve sitting on the couch, staring at his sex-painting, wearing his old sweatpants that showed off the line of his dick and….

 

Yeah, there was a distinct possibility the problem was _with Bucky._

 

“We’re going,” Steve said the moment Bucky picked up, decisive.

 

“Of course we are,” Bucky answered.  “Think Peggy would fly out for it?”

 

“I think she would have rather flown in for my show.”

 

“Yeah, but your success was a foregone conclusion,” Bucky needled.  He knew Peggy couldn’t get the time off or really afford to fly back to New York for what little time she could manage to book off, but she’d be disappointed she missed this. “Whereas this could be a shitshow of epic proportions.  Especially if she’s there.”

 

Just as he was thinking that she tweeted back that the two of them were traitors.

 

 _Shouldn’t you be asleep?_ Bucky questioned.  _IDK what time it is over there in Plymouth but you live a sedentary lifestyle now._

 

 _It’s 5 you asshole,_ Peggy tweeted back.

 

 _She’s just getting ready for bed, Buck. Stop teasing her,_ Steve chimed in.

 

Those were his people, Bucky smiled with fondness.

 

x.x.x.x.

 

Bucky wasn’t sure if Steve was just the type of person who couldn’t be inactive for more than a few days before getting antsy (he was) or if he’d gotten new inspiration, but he returned home from work on Friday to half-sketched pieces of papers scattered across the living room and Steve standing over them with a frown on his face.  There was sweat at his temples from the heat and his hair was standing on end from the amount of times he’d run his hands through it.  Bucky recognised the signs of him chasing a larger picture, and skirted the edges of the mess.  

 

Part of him weathered the need to sigh because he’d been looking forward to having the weekend for just the two of them.  Creative people didn’t really take weekends, and Steve had been busier than most, especially in the last few months. “What do you think it is?”  he asked instead, squinting at the mess.  It didn’t look like anything other than a mess to him.  It never did, until things took shape beneath Steve’s expert touch.

 

“A series,” Steve answered him.  “Mural, maybe.  Notice how this part echoes this part over here,” he said, gesturing with his fingers spread wide as though he was reaching out and grabbing each image and transposing them on top of each other in his mind.  Bucky wondered if Steve would kill for some of the technology at Stark’s disposal or if he’d turn his nose up at it.  Maybe he’d arrange for Steve to come into the office to play one of these days.  Pepper would accommodate that, gladly, and Tony would probably low-key create an update for his software to support what Steve needed.  “And then this connects it all into a larger image.  I just don’t know what that larger image is yet.  Oh, hey! You’re home!”

 

Bucky smiled at him in return.  “Yeah, I am.”

 

“Your mom texted me about an hour ago, can you check to see what it says?”

 

It was probably an invitation out to the house for the weekend or some other kind of family obligation.  His mom liked to check up on him via Steve and both of them pretended that they didn’t know exactly why she felt the need to.  “It’s from three hours ago,” he noted, because Steve’s sense of time when he was working was always wonky.  It was on the tip of his tongue to nag Steve about eating when he actually read the text.

 

**New text from Winifred:**

_Becca is on her way to you for the weekend.  Give Bucky the heads up._

 

“What the fuck,” he said after reading the text out loud.   “Is this your way of giving me the heads up?”

 

“Surprise,” Steve answered with a complete lack of concentration on Bucky, his attention back on his art.  Bucky gave Steve a few moments to stop being a sarcastic little shit on autopilot and actually realize what the conversation was about.  Steve didn’t let him down.  “Wait,” he said, his head jerking towards where Bucky had originally been standing and then looking around the room for him.  “Becca can’t stay here.”

 

“I know,” Bucky said, gesturing towards the living room.  “You’re in the middle of a new project.”

 

“No,” Steve answered, aggrieved, giving Bucky that stare like he’d missed something.  “She thinks we’re in a relationship!”

 

Bucky gaped at Steve in horror.  “Well, fuck.”  He’d been looking forward to this weekend.  They had plans. And even if they were semi-derailed by Steve getting artistic, he wouldn’t have cancelled on the show reservations. Of all the weekends for Becca to randomly… “She follows me on Twitter.”

 

… purposefully show up because she knew about his plans.

 

“You think?” Steve questioned, already gathering up his papers. 

 

“It’s what I would have done,” he answered, knowing better than to try to help Steve.  Instead, he moved towards his bedroom, surveying it for a moment with as much dispassion as he could.  There was very little he could do to make it look like it wasn’t very obviously his bedroom.  Not if his mother’s text was three hours old.  He tried to think about what would have migrated into Steve’s room if they were sleeping together.  Cell phone charger for sure. 

 

“I’ll go see if I can meet her, maybe divert her to give you extra time.”

 

“There’s not really room in your bedroom for any of my stuff,” Bucky pointed out, and realized both of them had made the same logic jump without talking about it.  It wouldn’t have been weird before they started side-stepping the whole blowjob thing.  “There’s barely enough room in your bedroom for you.”

 

Steve’s bedroom was barely large enough for the bed and a dresser.  There was only one closet in the entire apartment, and it was the coat closet.  They both agreed that they’d use it to hang up their good clothing rather than coats.  It was the perfect sized apartment for someone their age and with their income.

 

But it wasn’t really designed so that Steve’s bedroom to accommodate two.  It gave them a good excuse, now that he’d considered it.

 

“Then just move the embarrassing stuff, like your sex drawer.”

 

Right.  There was that.

 

“Do we need to buy anything to be hospitable?  What do teenage girls like?” Steve fretted.

 

“I don’t know,” Bucky answered with exasperation.  “Toilet paper?  Stop worrying, it’s just my sister.”  His sister who showed up uninvited.  She’d be lucky if Bucky even fed her.

 

Steve sighed, shoving his feet into his shoes.  He had his wallet in his hand like holding it would suddenly impart inspiration for what he needed to purchase.  Bucky would have laughed if he wasn’t so angry.   Becca was… fuck, she was too much like him.  It was a terrifying thought.  “I’ll pick up food.”

 

“That would be super considering I have to wash these sheets, clean the bathroom, and cancel all of our weekend plans.  Maybe you can pick up something I won’t have to cook, too.”

 

“It’s too hot to cook,” Steve answered in a mild tone, leaning in and pressing a kiss against Bucky’s mouth.  “We’ve got to get used to it again,” he explained before he was gone, leaving Bucky scowling at the door.

 

It was too hot to do anything, and he had a lot of things to do incredibly quickly.  He needed to get some of his clothing into Steve’s room, place the box of condoms in his bedside table somewhere strategic – either the kitchen or the bathroom, which ever one would make Becca make the most disturbed face – and generally make the apartment look less like two bachelors lived there and more like a couple.

 

That last part he wasn’t really sure how to do.  Should he hide a bottle of lube in the couch?

 

Yeah.  He was totally hiding a bottle of lube in the couch.

 

x.x.x.x.

 

Becca took one look at Bucky’s room and then turned to look at him with an accusatory expression.  “Your stuff’s in there.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky answered in a tone that implied that he thought she was deeply stupid for thinking that it wouldn’t be.  “It is my bedroom.”  He looked at Steve, standing behind her carrying an overnight bag and take-out and rolled his eyes.  “Becca seems to think I should have moved all my stuff into your room.”

 

“What space?” Steve questioned.  “I can barely squeeze between my dresser and bed without adding all of Bucky’s clothing to the mix.”

 

“Well excuse me for having a full time job that means I need to have multiple wardrobes, Steve,” Bucky sniped back.  “Not all of us only have two distinguishing looks: painted and painted on.”

 

“And on that note, I’m going to take my food to my studio.  I’ll be back later,” he promised, dropping Becca’s bag and giving Bucky another quick kiss. 

 

His mouth tingled as he watched Steve walk away.

 

And was left with Becca.

 

Fucking Steve Rogers.  Why had Bucky ever thought Steve was his best friend? 

 

Becca sighed and picked up her overnight bag, dragging it into his bedroom with a great deal of teen angst despite the fact it didn’t look heavy.  Bucky watched her do it.

 

“Is everything ok?” He questioned in his most cloying, concerned-brother tone.  “Did you have a fight with mom?  Is it Wilhelm?”

 

Becca gave him a look like he was deeply stupid.  “Mom doesn’t get it,” she answered.  “I’m seventeen! I don’t want to spend my weekends rehearsing for a _community theatre_ play and volunteering at the library.”

 

Bucky thought of what he was doing when he was seventeen – mostly ecstasy – and thought maybe their mom got it a lot more than either of them considered.  “I thought you wanted to be an actress,” he pointed out in a rational voice with as little inflection as he could manage.

 

“I’ll be successful at it,” she told him, like she was throwing shade at the fact that Bucky had dabbled in theatre.  Bucky had dabbled because it had been fun to do before going out to raves on nights where he couldn’t see Steve.

 

“I never wanted to be successful at it,” he pointed out because he couldn’t let it rest.  “It was a fun hobby.  I have other fun hobbies now.”

 

“Like what?” she questioned, gesturing around his room.  There were a lot of books.  A prototype or two he liked tinkering with.  “Boring adult stuff,” Becca scoffed.  “You were fun once, I thought you’d get it.”

 

Bucky had been _too fun_ once to ever want to _get it_ where Becca was concerned.   He had a list of all of his current hobbies on the tip of his tongue, but Becca was absolutely right about it being boring adult stuff, at least to her point of view.  Bucky kind of liked that it was all boring adult stuff.  If there was one thing about seeing his teenaged sister it was that he was able to see how far he’d come since he was her age, and he didn’t think he’d want to go back, even for a day.  He wouldn’t change any of it, no matter how tempting it was.

 

He was happy, he realized.  Maybe there were things about his life that could be improved, but he was happy with how it turned out.  “Also, I thought you needed volunteer hours to graduate,” he pointed out instead, carrying on their previous conversation.  He went back into the living room and picked up the bags of take out Steve had left, glancing into them.  There was definitely curry in there. Steve it’s-too-hot-to-cook Rogers and his sense of irony.  Dickbag.

 

“God, you’re just as bad as she is,” Becca sulked, following him like she used to when she was a kid who loved and admired him.  A loooong time ago. “I thought you’d understand!”

 

What a fucking child. 

 

If Steve was there, he’d probably point out the similar expressions on their faces and laugh at them, both of them prone to a similar temperament.  But Steve wasn’t there, so instead Bucky said: “I do understand.  I understand that you think you’re _so mature_ , but you’re not fooling anyone by coming here and thinking I’m going to bring you with us when we go out tomorrow night.  You’ll stay here if we go at all.”

 

“You’re _the worst_!” Becca snapped, grabbing the bag of food and stomping into Bucky’s bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

 

He hoped she was regretting not staying home and going to rehearsal.  If Bucky had any say in the matter he was going to make her weekend so boring she’d never want to come back.

 

x.x.x.

 

Becca seemed like she would rather sulk in his bedroom all night with her laptop and bag of take-out than deal with Bucky’s brand of protective-older-brother-inquisition, and Bucky was more than happy to let her do it.  He’d always have room for his sister in his life and his apartment if she needed it, and he’d happily provide her with a place to have her teenage rebellion phase, even.  Her timing made Bucky grumpy.  It was more than suspicious that she was visiting on the weekend when Bucky tweeted about plans in a place that might sound pretty cool to a teenager living in Rhode Island.

 

And, well, it was more than Bucky and Steve going, but Bucky had still been thinking of it as something they were doing together.

 

How pathetic was that?

 

He found himself taking the opportunity to be in Steve’s bedroom, slipping between his cool sheets with his phone in his hand.  The strangeness of it helped cool his temper a bit, and he was just getting into a library eBook when Steve came in, looking rumpled and sweaty, and Bucky was faced with the reality of the fact he’d be sharing a bed with his gorgeous best friend for at least two nights.

 

“You look like you’re thinking good thoughts,” Steve pointed out and then stripped off his shirt.

 

Jesus.

 

That had to be on purpose.

 

“Oh, I am,” Bucky promised.  “Are you going to let me show you?”

 

Steve paused and looked at him before taking his pants off deliberately, but without subtext.  He was left in his underwear and he bent over to rummage through his bottom dresser drawer for a pair of pyjama pants.  Bucky watched the flex of his shoulders without saying a word.  There wasn’t really much to say.

 

“You know you don’t have to wear those with me,” Bucky prompted as Steve shoved his legs into them.  “Unless I make you uncomfortable.”

 

It wasn’t that Bucky had never slept with Steve before, it was that it was summer in Brooklyn, they didn’t have air conditioning, and if you lined both their shoulders up across the bed, there wasn’t much space left to avoid touching.  Bucky and Steve had a very no homo philosophy, as in they didn’t give a shit whether they touched while sleeping, or whether Bucky accidentally groped Steve’s ass trying to find his key while they were carrying groceries, or whether they spent so much time wandering around the apartment in boxers that there were the accidental dick slips occasionally.

 

They were kind of all kinds of homo with each other. 

 

Bucky just wasn’t looking forward to waking up with a possibly boner situation and coated in sweat.  If Steve wore flannel pyjamas to bed he was just going to make the situation worse.

 

“It might be cooler if one of us takes the floor,” Steve pointed out.  “Haven’t even seen a cockroach in months.”

 

"We've slept in the same bed before without getting handsy," Bucky pointed out.  "Now the real challenge - can we sleep in the same bed and get convincingly handsy?"

 

Steve shrugged.  "I don't see why not."

 

“I could just groan a little.  You don’t have to touch me.”

 

“Why wouldn’t I touch you?” Steve questioned.

 

“You aren’t done thinking about it, for one.”

 

“Maybe I should be doing less thinking and more doing,” Steve answered, and it was way too direct to be flirtation.  He had his arms crossed over his chest and he was frowning at Bucky.

 

Bucky took it as a form of seduction anyway.  “Get in bed,” Bucky prompted.  “No touching, for both our sanity.  I’ll respect the pants.”

 

“I was actually going to go take a shower.” Steve gestured down to the pyjamas, “I’d rather not give your sister a show.”

 

“She’d probably like it,” Bucky pointed out.

 

“I reserve that kind of show for the eldest Barnes sibling.”

 

And that?  That was Steve flirting.

 

Bucky was actually getting back into his book when Steve returned, dropped his clothing into the hamper, and pulled a clean pair of boxers out of his dresser.  He then proved he had very few problems with the idea of being naked in front of Bucky by dropping his towel and stepping into them.

 

God.  Steve was going to give him a heart attack one of these days. 

 

Bucky could just picture Steve’s face if Bucky bothered calling him on it.  The sarcastic, unimpressed stare.  The ‘really, but you’ve seen it all already’ quirk of his eyebrow.  “We can do this,” Bucky said instead.  “Let’s just see what happens.”

 

 “Ok,” Steve said, sliding into the bed half-naked, skin cool from the shower and slightly damp. 

 

Steve turned towards him, his hand brushing against Bucky’s arm.  They looked at each other for a moment, both of them braced on their sides.  Bucky searched for something to say, some kind of ice breaker that made Steve so amused that it gave Bucky the confidence to lean over and kiss him while he was disarmed.  He wasn’t sure he’d have the bravery to do it otherwise.

 

Steve solved the problem by doing it himself, without finding a way to put Bucky at ease.  Steve had always been braver than Bucky was.  He simply ducked forward, brushing his mouth against Bucky’s. 

 

“I’m not very good at waiting to see what happens,” Steve murmured.

 

Bucky leaned into him.  Kissing Steve had gotten familiar a month ago, but it had been so long since they were ‘practice’ kissing daily that there was a novelty that lured Bucky in, made it impossible to think of anything other than the fact he was making out with Steve.  In Steve’s bed.  With his sister on the other side of the wall.  The taste of toothpaste was strong on Steve’s lips, the mint refreshing, and Steve’s arm curled gently around Bucky’s back.

 

It was the closeness and the sense of permanence that got to Bucky, a warm feeling of being snuggled up to Steve, his nose nudging against Steve’s every time one of them shifted, the way the air between them was warm from breathing against each other and their combined body heat.  The kisses were lazy and unhurried, sweet in their own way.

 

Steve nudged Bucky’s chin back, pressing his mouth against the curve of Bucky’s jaw, lips trailing lower.  He kissed below Bucky’s ear, sucking just the slightest bit to ensure Bucky would feel it, and then…

 

And then he snickered.

 

It was enough to break Bucky out of the moment, his hand convulsing against Steve’s bicep.   

 

“Do you remember…” Steve started, lifting his head away from Bucky’s neck.  His eyes were filled with mirth, and Bucky k _new_. “…that time in sixth grade when you used the vacuum cleaner hose to pretend someone gave you a hickey?”

 

Steve could have stopped at ‘do you remember’ because the moment the words emerged from his mouth, Bucky knew what was happening.  The problem with making out in bed with the man who had been your best friend since childhood was that they knew all the embarrassing stories about you. “Unfortunately you seem to be remembering it enough for the both of us.”  Bucky rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, hoping this trip down memory lane would be over fast enough for him to keep a little bit of his pride.

 

Steve snorted again softly, but Bucky could feel the bed shaking from his mirth.  “And the vacuum sucked up your hair…”

 

“Yes,” Bucky agreed in a cross tone.  “You don’t have to rehash the whole thing.”

 

But Steve was on a roll and continued to talk right over Bucky.  “…and I shut it off but then we couldn’t get your hair out and your mom found us in the living room with you crying and me brandishing a pair of scissors.  She was so mad.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky responded, rolling away from Steve.  Moment over.  Jesus Christ. “Good memories of why I spent my awkward preteen years with a terrible haircut.”

 

“Aww, it wasn’t so bad,” Steve answered, rolling into him and placing his head on Bucky’s shoulder.  “I just realized we probably could have cut out a lot of middle years if you had just suggested that I be the one to give you the mark.”

 

“Maybe.”  Bucky pressed a kiss against Steve’s forehead, over twenty years of fondness and tenderness swelling beneath his breastbone.  “It wouldn’t have been like this, though.”

 

“No,” Steve agreed.  “If we had explored this then…” he trailed off.  “Who knows.”

 

Bucky knew.  Bucky knew that thinking of _what could have beens_ didn’t solve anything.  “I like this. I like who we are now.  I feel like it's the _perfect_  point in our lives.”

 

“Sap,” Steve yawned, tucking himself closer to Bucky affectionately, his nose tucked up against Bucky’s collarbone.  It was what Steve had always done when they were kids, and the return of the habit made all that fondness and tenderness gather thick in Bucky’s throat. 

 

He looked down at Steve and tightened his grip.  The change in Steve's size from when they were ten years old cemented how real this was.

 

“Love you,” Bucky murmured after a few moments, giving his breathing time to even out and for his heart rate to mellow.  Steve had started breathing deeply, his cheek nuzzling against Bucky’s shoulder like he could mould the flesh to take the shape he needed to be the most comfortable pillow.  That, too, was a familiar sign of Steve drifting off to sleep.

 

“Love you too,” Steve answered.


	7. The one with a little too much honesty, but still not with each other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: talk of drug use and overdoses in this chapter.

Bucky woke up flush against Steve’s back, his entire body feeling overheated and drenched.  He could feel sweat at his temples and all along his back.  His front was a wall of heat, his shirt plastered to him even tighter than Steve was.  

 

He was going to need a shower.  An ice shower. 

 

And not because it was already 89 degrees in the shade at 6 in the morning. 

 

He was hard against Steve’s ass, arousal spiking the temperature in the bedroom so that he felt like he couldn’t breathe.  His nose was pressed against Steve’s hairline, and each inhale smelled of sweat and faintly of Steve’s shampoo, and for some reason it sent a comforting signal to Bucky’s brain, lulling him into thinking this situation was familiar. 

 

And, sure, this wasn’t the first time it happened along the years, but it was far from familiar.  All those other times there had never been the possibility for it to continue.  Bucky would wake up, politely extricate himself from around Steve, and both of them would continue with their day without acknowledging it. 

 

But now Bucky had swallowed Steve’s come, and it was a game changer. 

 

Steve shifted his hips backwards, grinding his ass up against Bucky’s cock.  Bucky tensed, arm shifting from where it was loosely draped around Steve to curl his fingers around Steve’s waist, holding him as tightly as possible.  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to put space between them or help Steve set a rhythm.  

 

At the feeling of Bucky moving, Steve exhaled, shakily and uncertainly, before he turned, sliding his entire body up against Bucky’s.  He tucked his face against Bucky’s neck and pulled Bucky against him, their erections sliding together in a way that made every nerve in Bucky’s body prickle with awareness. 

 

“Hi,” Steve breathed, his head pulling away so he could look at Bucky’s face. 

 

“’morning,” Bucky whispered back.  He wasn’t sure he could catch his breath at the idea that Steve was also awake.  It seemed inevitable now that he was going to pull Steve closer, that they were both going to leap off that ledge together in a few moments.  Sure, they’d already given each other blow jobs, but there was a difference.  A distinction.  He couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, that distinction was, but he thought it might be because Bucky had offered the blow job to help Steve, and then Steve had reciprocated. 

 

But sex?  In bed?  After sleeping together? It was something that felt very much a mutual decision, like the two of them clinging to each other and leaping off a precipice – a leap of faith that they’d be safe because they had each other.  Bucky stared at Steve, wondering what he was thinking.  There wasn’t much space between them, but somehow it still felt like anticipation when Steve’s eyelashes fluttered shut and he tilted his chin forward, seeking Bucky’s mouth.  Bucky gave into the offer immediately, kissing Steve in a way that was lingering. 

 

“We don’t have to do this now,” Bucky said, but his hands seemed to be going directly against the rational center of his brain, proprietarily tightening his grasp on Steve’s back and hip. He wanted.  He wanted Steve so badly he couldn’t breathe or think with it, and yet that want wasn’t entirely based in sex. “We’re both obviously turned on.  We’ve been rubbing against each other all night so of course we are. I want you to know that I think that there’s nothing wrong with taking a step back, if we need it.  There aren’t any expectations. Steve, I know you’re not…” 

 

“I’m sure,” Steve interrupted him.  “Do you need to stop?” 

 

Bucky huffed out a laugh.  “No.” 

 

“No, seriously,” Steve said, hand against Bucky’s chest.  His expression was solemn and intent, and so genuinely Steve that Bucky couldn’t help but smile.  “Pause.  You’ve been thinking about this out of concern for me.  Consider yourself for a moment.  Do you need to stop?” 

 

“Steve…” Bucky answered, still smiling, but he gave Steve’s request the benefit of a moment’s consideration because Steve asked him to.   

 

 _I love you,_ he considered saying, echoing the night before.  He wondered if Steve could see it on his expression and could hear it in his words.  He thought maybe, if Steve did, he was probably taking it the same way Bucky took every single look and word Steve gave him – as though he could take the emotion for granted, but until Steve admitted that it was romantic, Bucky wasn’t going to assume that it was. 

 

“No,” Bucky answered firmly.  “I really don’t need to stop.” 

 

But he figured that it was only a matter of time.  Steve didn’t have sex easily with people, but he took Bucky’s words with a heated, pleased expression, looking down at Bucky’s mouth and telegraphing his intent. 

 

Steve moved forward and kissed him again.  Bucky could feel the heat curling through him, a dirty spike of arousal from the sweltering weather and from Steve groaning against his mouth, pressing as close as he possibly could.  Steve’s thigh deliberately slid between Bucky’s, brushing up against his arousal in a way that reinforced Steve’s answer in a way that made Bucky relax. 

 

And Bucky.  Bucky realized how much of what he’d said must have sounded like a dare to Steve.  He knew better, but then he’d always known how to phrase things to egg Steve on, just like Steve always knew what to say to inspire Bucky.   

 

“Think of how convincing we’ll be if we wake Becca up trying to keep morning sex quiet.”  Steve spoke quietly, his fingers brushing against Bucky’s cheekbone.  Steve was looking him in the eyes, and there wasn’t any trepidation in his expression.  If anything, he seemed to think he had to _convince Bucky_. 

 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to be that believable with an audience of his little sister.  He thought that kind of activity deserved to be kept for a time when they weren’t doing it for the benefit of a lie.  He wasn’t sure if he liked Steve rationalizing away them getting intimate.  Even the _mutual_ _bro_ _job_ _exploration_ _experience_ had been more honestly defined. 

 

Maybe Bucky really was the one who needed convincing.  Huh.  He hadn’t seen that coming. 

 

“Okay,” he found himself agreeing anyway. 

 

Steve nodded once.  “Okay,” he repeated, and smiled.  Bucky was helpless against the surge of emotion he felt towards Steve smiling at him like that, and he was the one to move into a kiss. 

 

It felt like a static charge – the hair-raising moments before a lightening strike – the air electrified from Bucky’s hand smoothing over Steve’s skin.  He knew his body was reacting to _Steve.  Steve.  Steve._   as he continued to kiss him.  Steve responded by pulling Bucky close, tugging him until Bucky was spread out on top of him. 

 

Steve shifted his hips, and their erections aligned.  Bucky’s body moved almost without thought, rutting against Steve without a sense of control. 

 

Steve was letting out these hitched sighs that were too quiet to be moans but were definitely audible to Bucky.  It was heady and arousing and he was so close that he felt like he was going to go over that edge at any moment.  This was Steve moving against him. 

 

Steve. 

 

He didn’t think that he could deny the fact that touching Steve did it for him, and it should be comforting that it was two-sided, but instead it was a terrifying precipice the two of them were about to careen over. 

 

“I’m…” Bucky breathed against Steve’s skin, moving his head a bit so he could press his mouth against Steve’s, the kiss artless and without any kind of finesse.  “Jesus.” 

 

“I’m with you,” Steve agreed, and Bucky pushed him backwards in response, getting his hand on Steve’s cock.  Everything between them was slick and hot and so, so good. 

 

x.x.x. 

 

When Bucky came back to himself, he was sitting astride Steve, their come tacky on Steve’s stomach.  Steve was looking up at him with wide eyes. 

 

“Oh,” he said, his mouth open and a stunned expression across his features. 

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, not sure that he looked any different from Steve, appearing as though he’d been electrocuted and hit over the head at the same time, stunned in a way that had everything to do with the fact his best friend was sprawled on his back beneath Bucky and all Bucky could think to regret was that he might not have an excuse to do this again immediately. 

 

Steve smiled at him, and Bucky leaned forward, softly brushing his lips against Steve’s mouth.  They rolled together so that they were facing each other on their sides, kissing slowly and gently, unhurried and unconcerned about the world around them. 

 

They only stopped making out when Bucky’s alarm went off, jarring and shrill even though the sound was kept low. It was Saturday, but Bucky still had an _‘ok you asshole if you don’t wake up now Steve is going to leave for errands without you and you might not see him at all today’_ alarm so at least he could make a choice as to whether sleep was more important than seeing Steve.  Of course, the man in question was shirking all of his daily habits next to him, but on a normal Saturday Steve was terrifyingly efficient about getting out of bed. 

 

And for Bucky?  Usually it was a 50/50 thing whether he could crawl out of bed to meet him or not. 

 

Steve? Important. 

 

Sleep? Also important. 

 

Steve snorted softly as Bucky reached for his phone to turn the alarm off.  He rolled on to his back and stared at the ceiling.  Then he started laughing, hiding his eyes in the crook of his elbow.  “We’re definitely going to have to talk about this.” 

 

“Uh huh,” Bucky agreed.  “Maybe for a few hours.” 

 

“Should we leave it until Becca leaves?” 

 

Bucky sighed.  It emerged long and aggravated.  “Yeah.  Becca.” 

 

Steve snorted again.  “Having trouble forming sentences?” 

 

“Yes,” Bucky spoke with feeling.  The underlying ‘fuck you very much’ only made Steve snicker louder. 

“You should too.” 

 

If Steve didn’t feel relaxed and sex-drunk then Bucky needed to work on his skills.  It was a little insulting, actually. 

 

Steve reached out, his hand clamping over Bucky’s forearm and squeezing once.  Then he sighed.  “Time to get up,” he said, like he could easily just start his day and wasn’t lying there with his brain melting out of his ears from great sex.  “Eugh, it’s going to be so hot today,” Steve groaned as he was forced to peel the damp sheets off his back as he rolled into a sitting position.  “Tonight I’m going to accidentally stay in my studio.  Sleep on a drop cloth or something.” 

 

“Your studio has air conditioning,” Bucky reminded him.  Or maybe that was the point.  It was hard to think when Steve was sitting next to him, the naked planes of his back reddened in places from the creased sheets pressing into it.  Bucky wanted to taste those lines, and that was something, wasn’t it?  “Maybe I’ll come stay with you.  Becca can have this hotbox to herself.” 

 

“Leave her on her own, and she might literally try to hotbox it.” 

 

“She has more sense than that,” Bucky pointed out. He amended that when he saw the sarcastic expression on Steve’s face, and they were probably remembering the same thing. “Or at least not enough money for that much weed.” 

 

Bucky watched as Steve leaned over to grab his boxers, pulling them back on with economical movements that still managed to look like poetry in motion.  “Don’t look at me like that,” Steve told him, but he was grinning as he leaned over and pressed his mouth against Bucky’s shoulder.  He stood up again, and stared down at Bucky’s face, warm and happy. 

 

“Don’t look at _me_ like that,” Bucky echoed.  “I’ll drag you back in here.” 

 

“Someone needs to go buy some groceries.” 

 

“You just want to go flirt with old ladies at the Farmers Market,” Bucky groused.  “They think you’re charming.” 

 

“They think you’re a bad boy.  _There’s a wild streak in that one_ ,” Steve mimicked in a falsetto, but the effect was ruined by the way he was laughing.   

 

“And look at us now.  They were right, I am terrible and we both know just how deep that goes,” Bucky reminded him.  “I just took advantage of you in your own bedroom.  Respect your elders, Steve.  They know these things.” 

 

“I respect where respect is due, and most of them only titter about your wild streak because they would have been the first in line to try to ride it fifty years ago.” 

 

Bucky looked up with a grin, ready to banter back to Steve about the friends he ended up making.  The serious look on Steve’s face stopped him.  Steve wasn’t bantering. 

 

Steve continued, his warrior-for-justice face on.  On Bucky’s behalf. “That’s not knowledge cultivated through the type experiences you should be taking to heart.  They don’t know you, James Buchanan Barnes.” 

 

“What did I do to deserve the use of my full name?”  But he knew. 

 

“You were thinking poorly of yourself.  No one is allowed to put down my best friend, not even himself.” 

 

x.x.x. 

 

 

 **New text from Nat:**  

 _Steve says Becca’s in town??_  

 

 _What else did Steve say?_ Bucky questioned, wondering if Steve had come right out and told Nat that they were having sex now. 

 

 **New text from Nat:**  

 _That she came here to party and you’re restricting her access. I think you should be honest with her about why._  

 

 **Bucky:** _She looks up to me._  

 

 **New text from Nat:**  

 _She’ll still look up to you.  You’re stronger than you recognise._  

 

 **Bucky:** _The words stick in my throat and I can’t say them out loud. I’ve never had to say them to someone who matters before.  Everyone who matters already knew._  

 

 **New text from Nat:**  

 _What does your psychiatrist think?_  

 

 **Bucky:** _That_ _I’m_ _full of shit.  And hiding.  And that I haven’t been forming long-term attachments because of it.  It’s a work in progress._  

 

 **New text from Nat:**  

 _You should think about it before she sneaks out._ _Sharon and I_ _can distract her for the afternoon and take_ _her_ _shopping.  I know all of the discount outlets_ _.  Sharon knows the good thrift places._  

 

 **New text from Nat:**  

 _So be a good bro and give her some spending money.  Getting new clothing will be a good balm for refusing to take her out clubbing._  

 

 **New text from Nat:**  

 _If she’s anything like you at all she’ll respond well to pretty things._  

 

 **Bucky:** _Thanks. Also *poop emoji*_  

 

x.x.x. 

 

Bucky didn’t see Steve again until meeting him for brunch with Sam.  Steve was about 20 minutes late, his wrist striped with paint as though he’d realized the time and hadn’t stopped to wash his hands.  Bucky had already ordered him a cool drink, and seriously considered drinking it once it arrived because Steve looked fresh out of air conditioning and Bucky felt like a swamp troll.  

 

“Phew,” Steve said, sitting in the chair beside Bucky.  “It’s a scorcher.” 

 

“No kidding,” Bucky sulked.  He pulled sunblock out of his bag and handed it to Steve.  They’d gone to brunch enough times in the summer for Bucky to know what happened when Steve sat outside for 2 hours.  He never remembered to think that _sitting in the direct sun = sunburn_ when it was for sitting-on-a-patio related purposes.  Bucky also brought the sunblock if they were drinking on a patio before sundown.   

 

Steve’s pale Irish pasty ass was lucky he had Bucky or he’d spend a lot more time with a peeling nose. 

 

They waited another ten minutes for the waitress to stop long enough to take their order.  It was obvious that they’d be waiting even longer for their food, reminding Bucky why every time they had brunch with Sam, they complained about having brunch with Sam.  A month was just enough time that pancakes and bacon overcame good sense. 

 

If Bucky thought pointing that out would make anyone move off their plastic chairs, he was dead wrong.   

 

“I hear your sister is in town,” Sam said, the sweat gathering at the nape of his neck the only sign he was feeling the heat.  Bucky had wilted an hour before, his entire t-shirt damp with it, his hair no longer holding shape.  He yearned for a hair-tie to put the front part of it back away from his face because the way it was clinging to his forehead was annoying. 

 

Swamp. Troll. 

 

He couldn’t even embrace his weekend hipster aesthetic when layers and scarves seemed like a good way to get heat stroke.  He wasn't that committed to anything. 

 

“Whose idea was it to sit on the patio?” Bucky griped, putting his glass of ice water up against his neck.  Or, it had once been ice water, anyway.  Now it was just water with dubious lemon particles floating on the top.   

 

“This place doesn’t have air conditioning,” Steve pointed out, nodding towards the open patio doors.  The people inside really did look more miserable than they did, so it was probably a good call.  

 

Not that it had been Steve’s decision, but somehow he knew that it had been Bucky’s.  Probably because every summer Bucky said ‘let’s sit on the patio’ and every summer Sam made dubious faces at Bucky’s argument. 

 

Bucky smiled at Steve. 

 

The bridge of Steve’s nose was still burning, and that just wouldn’t do.  He reached out and plucked Sam’s baseball hat off his head and plunked it on Steve’s. 

 

“Hey!” Sam complained, but didn’t seem to have the energy to take it back.  “Yeah, whatever, lobster-nose. Keep it,” he said, waving it away when he got a good look at Steve’s face. 

 

Brunch.  At it’s worse. 

 

“Why are we still doing this to ourselves?” Bucky questioned.  “We ordered thirty minutes ago and I still don’t see my fruit cup or smoothie.” 

 

“Because Sam likes brunch.” 

 

“Don’t blame this on me.  The two of you are sitting here too.” 

 

That they were.  Bucky had eaten brunch with Pepper a few weeks before at a very upscale hotel dining room with some of Stark International’s clients.  There’d been smoked salmon involved.  He said so out loud, only to have both of them tease him about his pretentious food choices for five minutes. 

 

Bucky was still sulking about it when his food was placed in front of him.  Bucky eyed Sam’s full plate and decided that the reason it took so long was because they had to cook every single item in Sam’s order. 

 

“I thought we were going out tonight.  Did you guys actually cancel your table at The Box so Bucky wouldn’t have to bring his sister?” Sam questioned incredulously, checking his social media with one hand while eating.  Food came, and it seemed like none of them had any conversation left in them, content to just sit there and eat. 

 

“It’s not the way it sounds,” Bucky answered, stirring his smoothie with a straw.  “She only showed up this weekend because I made the mistake of tweeting Steve and Peggy about our plans.  With a poorly veiled excuse at that.  Cancelling plans and staying home with the Indiana Jones movies is exactly what she deserves.” 

 

“It’s true,” Steve agreed, licking his spoon.  Bucky got a little distracted by the swirl of Steve’s tongue.  Maybe, next time they were playing the ‘are we faking this or just emotionally stunted’ game, rimjobs would be involved.  Or maybe more blowjobs.  Bucky had fond and recent memories involving that tongue.  “Becca’s pushing a little too hard to get into the nightlife, and she’s exactly like Bucky was at that age, which is terrifying.  You didn’t know him then, but Bucky let that lifestyle ride him hard and put him away wet.” 

 

Bucky snorted at Steve’s wording.  “Literally, some nights.  Remember Halloween of ’08?” 

 

“Bucky fell into the harbor,” Steve translated to Sam, casually taking a bite of his omelet.  

 

“Or that time the next July?” Bucky prompted. 

 

“Bucky disappeared for 4 days, and could only remember 2 of them.” 

 

“OR AUGUST!” Bucky yelled, pointing at Steve.  “August, Steve!” 

 

“Orgy,” Steve said simply.  “And E.” 

 

“August was a good month,” Bucky grinned, enjoying the way Sam’s face was getting more incredulous as they had their back and forth.  “I don’t remember it fondly, or very much at all, but I’m sure I enjoyed it at the time.  But Becca is only 17, so there’s no way she’s experiencing something like August of ’09 while under my roof.  At least not until she’s the same age I was and making her bad decisions while not living with mom.” 

 

“I don’t know which is more disarming,” Sam contemplated.  “Bucky Barnes the overprotective older brother or Bucky Barnes the guy who casually mentions his past with orgies and E.  You hardly even drink.” 

 

“Technically Steve was the one who casually mentioned those.  You’ve gotta understand,” Bucky said, slipping his arm around Steve’s shoulders.  “Steve and I have always been BFFs, but I was also hanging out with a different crowd those years.” 

 

“Stark?” 

 

“Young socialites and aspiring actors,” Steve inserted, looking over at Bucky.  Bucky knew immediately from the mischievous twinkle in his eye what was about to happen.  “Bucky was just pretty enough to look like he belonged.” 

 

And he immediately went along with it. 

 

“Fuck you,” Bucky laughed.  “I was prettier.  Stark wasn’t until a few months later in September when he showed up to teach an advanced seminar drunk and I corrected his engineering proof twice before he sobered up enough to actually hold a conversation about it.” 

 

“To hear Stark tell it, he wasn’t drunk enough.” 

 

“That might actually be true,” Bucky conceded.  “The next time I handed him my water bottle of vodka and we’ve been buddies ever since.” 

 

“He needs friends his own age who understand his mad brain jumps.  He settled for you,” Steve said, nudging into Bucky. 

 

“Wow,” Sam said, clearly enunciating the word.  “Just.  Wow.  And here I thought you led a boring and unexciting life like Steve here.” 

 

“Hey!” Steve answered indignantly. 

 

“Instead you’re trying to tell me that Bucky has a secret sordid past where he wasn’t born as a dull old grandpa type-person.”  The ‘like Steve here’ was unspoken on the end of that sentence. 

 

“Hey!” 

 

“Oh yeah,” Bucky grinned.  “There’s a guy who plays one of your favorite characters on one of your favorite shows – won’t say who, but I’ve totally sucked his cock.” 

 

“Bucky can be boring, he also has a suspender collection,” Steve pointed out in a hopeless kind of way as Sam stared at Bucky in horror as he tried to figure out what actor Bucky was referring to.  Bucky could _see_ him mentally go through all the shows he watched. 

 

Hilarious. 

 

“I had a weird hipster phase before settling in to my current aesthetic,” Bucky told Sam, leaning in like he was sharing a secret.  Sam was still staring at him like Bucky had betrayed every assumption he’d ever made and he could never watch any of his tv shows again.  Bucky was sure that had nothing to do with the hipster phase, though if asked, Bucky would be clear which horrified him more.  “It was really hardcore mountain man.  I look better in leather.  No idea what I was thinking.” 

 

“The flannel looked really good,” Steve told him.  “I mean, you might not have liked it, but a lot of the clothes liked you.” 

 

“Wow,” Sam stressed again, getting to his feet with an over-dramatic jump that told Bucky that he was joking.  “I’m not sure I can deal with you guys flirting right now.  You do realize you’re doing it?” 

 

“We had sex this morning,” Steve informed him, his tone taking on that primness that he only brought out when he was completely putting someone on.  It worked best with Tony. 

 

Bucky could tell that it took Sam a second to process Steve’s words against his tone of voice and he smirked over at Steve.  Steve was his favorite.  Always had been, always would be. It took him a second to come up with something so over the top that it would blow Sam's mind, sure that Steve would go along with it.  “Besides, Sam.  I had to find new hobbies.  Steve was in sugarbaby relationship with some guy I never met.” 

 

Sam’s face was everything to Bucky. 

 

“That’s a lie, Sam” Steve continued in his straitlaced tone without even a hint of a smile.  “Bucky met Howard.  He’s Tony’s dad.” 

 

x.x.x. 

 

“Oh my god,” Bucky wheezed, his back pressed against the wall as soon as they stepped through the door.  Steve sank down opposite of him, their legs tangling in the space between them.  He had a grin on his face, completely self-congratulatory.  He deserved it.  “Oh my god.  I don’t know how I kept a straight face.  My face was straight, right?” 

 

“Yeah.  Couldn’t even tell.” 

 

“Howard Stark!” Bucky snorted.  “Oh my god, did you see Sam?  I swear it looked like he no longer knew simple truths, like how gravity works.  I thought he might throw up.  It was beautiful, Stevie.  I will treasure the look on his face for the rest of my life.”  He leaned forward, offering his fist for a fist bump.  Steve obliged him. 

 

“I’ll have to tell him it’s a lie before he mentions it to Tony.” 

 

“Do you?” Bucky questioned with a teasing smirk.  “Are you sure?” 

 

“Yeah,” Steve answered seriously.  “I don’t think I can deal with Tony calling me daddy in overtly sexual tones.” 

 

Bucky paused and considered that, and then nodded. “That is an _excellent_ point.” 

 

x.x.x. 

 

A few hours later and Bucky still couldn’t look straight at Steve without bursting into giggles.  They had to studiously avoid each other’s eyes while eating sandwiches for supper, and every once in a while Bucky would mutter ‘Howard Stark?’ and shake his head, biting his lip as he looked up at Steve.  Steve would snort, repeat ‘Howard’ and both of them would be laughing again. 

 

“What’s so funny?” Nat questioned, holding the door open as Becca stumbled through it carrying what looked like her own weight in bags.   

 

Bucky jumped, and felt guilty because he hadn’t been concerned about where his sister was.  But then, Nat and Sharon were the type of people that someone could leave their baby sister with without worrying.  “Good day shopping?” he asked, as genuinely curious as he could manage while internally wondering what the dent on his credit card would be. 

 

“Got some good deals,” Nat answered, not committing to anything.  Bucky had given Becca a budget of $200, and he knew how Nat shopped.  Her idea of a deal was a thousand dollar purse at half-price. 

 

“I got this really cute BCBGMAXAZRIA dress that was originally $500!” Becca told him, looking like she was vibrating with excitement.  “Guess how much I paid?” 

 

“I’m scared to ask,” Bucky answered, wondering if this was what being a parent felt like.  Bucky could have used that $500 to buy himself new clothes. 

 

Bucky _loved_ new clothes.  Nat should have taken him out shopping, leaving Becca with Steve.  Steve probably would have taught her how to play bridge or something, because at the core of it Steve was an old man troll. 

 

“$150! It has a rip on the hem but I think mom should be able to fix it.  If not I’ll wear it anyway. It’s not like I don’t own clothing with rips in it,” she chatted away while dragging all of her stuff into the bedroom.  She was smiling, practically beaming, and he was sure that both Nat and Sharon were better at understanding how to treat a 17 year old girl like an adult while still watching over her in New York City than Bucky could ever dream to be. 

 

Bucky winced at Nat once Becca's back was turned, mouthing '$150?' 

 

Nat shrugged.  “The price for keeping her occupied for the day,” she continued in an unconcerned tone.  “It’s a nice dress.” 

 

“There’s more in those bags than the $200 budget I gave her,” Bucky hissed out of the corner of his mouth. 

 

Nat sighed and looked at Steve with an unimpressed expression.  Bucky turned his head and squinted at his best friend, who was looking distinctly guilty. 

 

“I… uh…” Steve winced and fidgeted.  “I may have given Becca an allowance too.  I dropped off the groceries while you were showering, and she gave me those eyes…” 

 

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment. Of course.   _Of course_ Steve had. He supposed that the problem with Steve never having money before was that he wasn’t able to offer any in situations like this, and Steve saw Becca as his own annoying little sister.  So of course he opened his wallet when she looked at him with those blue Barnes eyes.  Steve knew how to say no, and could say no to Bucky well enough, but he liked it when he didn’t have to. 

 

“Ok,” Bucky said, defeated. “Next time we coordinate that, though.  She didn’t need both of us throwing money at her.  That’s not going to teach her fiscal responsibility.” 

 

“I heard that!” Becca said loudly from the bedroom.  “I don’t need to learn fiscal responsibility!  I never have any money.” 

 

“I wonder why,” Bucky muttered to Steve.  “You would have taken the cash and saved it.” 

 

“I never had any money either,” Steve pointed out. 

 

Natasha observed them carefully.  Bucky wasn’t sure about Steve, but he was just waiting for her to make a veiled comment about how she figured out they had sex that morning.  He was sure that the longer she looked, the more obvious it was on his face.  Instead she looked at Steve, and Bucky did his best not to do the same.  “Are we doing the same thing for your birthday this year?” she asked. 

 

“Sounds great,” Steve answered with a smile. 

 

Steve’s birthday was… well, Bucky was regularly seeing Steve’s dick these days and it still felt like it was going to be a big event. 

 

“Steve’s birthday?” Becca questioned, emerging from Bucky’s bedroom.  Bucky felt like he was a teenager again with a little sister who poked her nose into the room while he was trying to have very mild phone sex with the person he was seeing.   

 

“Well,” Natasha said like the instigator that she was.  “That’s my cue to leave.  Have a good time tonight.” 

 

“Thanks,” Bucky muttered. 

 

“What do you have planned for your birthday?” Becca questioned Steve. 

 

Steve planned to get drunk and then dance naked on a tabletop.  As much as you could _plan_ that.  It was almost funny watching the way he hedged and then looked at Bucky for help. 

 

It was on the tip of Bucky’s tongue to say ‘a Parcheesi tournament’ but he realized that if he sarcastically made it seem like Steve’s birthday was going to be lame that Becca would catch on to the fact that it wasn’t.  “We have a museum gala that Pepper thinks will be good for Steve’s career and then Nat’s for drinks.” 

 

“Oh,” Becca answered.  “That sounds like fun.” 

 

“It will be,” Bucky answered, cutting through her hints that _she_ would think it was fun.  “Steve and I are going to be selfish and take as much of the day as possible to stay in bed.  Hey,” he said, jerking his head towards Steve and grinning.  “Have you ever fucked in the Met?” 

 

The look on Becca's face was worth it. 

 

“No, Bucky,” Steve warned.  “Don’t go getting ideas about that in your head.” 

 

“But Steve…” He was teasing.  100% teasing.  And yet, he could picture it easily.  He might have to cajole Steve a little more than he had during his art showing, or maybe all of the pretentious art aficionados with invitations to the gala would annoy and frustrate Steve to a point where dragging him into a closed wing or the washroom would be a necessity to his health. 

 

Yep.  Idea in head. 

 

“Bucky,” Steve chastised, really looking like he was concerned.  “Stop.” 

 

“The two of you flirt like you don’t even realize I’m here,” Becca grumbled. 

 

“That’s not true,” Bucky responded cheerfully.  “We flirt better with an audience.” 

 

“Did Nat feed you?” Steve asked.  “I can make you a sandwich before we go out tonight.” 

 

x.x.x. 

 

Becca walked out of his bedroom wearing the sequined mini-dress she bought with Nat and a pair of high heels.  “Alright,” Bucky said slowly, doing his best not to sound too amused.  “You look nice, but I’m not sure you’ll be comfortable at the movies in that skirt.  One of my exes, Candice, remember her?  She used to say that she only wore pants to the movies because the seat covers are itchy and there’s no way of knowing what you’re sitting on.” 

 

“The movies,” Becca echoed, staring at Bucky like he was criminally stupid.  “You have reservations at The Box tonight.  It’s all over Twitter.” 

 

“We cancelled them so you and I could spend time together.  Star Trek Beyond starts in forty-five minutes.  I met Zachary Quinto once, you know?” 

 

“You did not,” Steve inserted from where he was sitting on the couch. 

 

If Becca was anyone else, Bucky might have inserted 'sucked his dick' in a casual tone.  But Becca was his sister, not Sam or Nat or Peggy. 

 

“You cancelled them? How could you do this to me?” Becca questioned, her eyes narrowed dangerously.  “You’re not my dad, it’s not your job to protect me.  Don't pretend like you weren’t sneaking into worse places when you were my age.” 

 

“Exactly,” Bucky snapped.  “You don’t get to use that line on me.  Maybe some other brother wouldn’t think twice about letting his seventeen year old sister tag along with him, but you don’t get to try to convince me that there aren’t consequences.” 

 

“Consequences?" Becca asked in a sharp, sarcastic tone.  "You have a college degree.  You work for Stark International, Bucky.  There doesn't look to be consequences to me.  You're the worst." 

 

“You’re the one who tried to use me,” Bucky answered, knowing his face was taking on a cruel expression.  “Maybe when you stop acting like a child I’ll stop treating you like one.” 

 

“I fucking hate you,” Becca hissed before slamming into her borrowed bedroom.  The sound echoed through the small apartment.  Steve raised his eyebrow at Bucky. 

 

“That didn’t go too badly,” Bucky observed, dropping next to Steve on the couch. 

 

“Ah huh,” Steve answered in a noncommittal tone.  “Now you just have to monitor her 24/7 to make sure she doesn’t sneak out like you would in the face of a conversation like that one.” 

 

“She wouldn’t,” Bucky answered, his head coming up off the back of the couch as he turned to look at Steve in horror.  “Oh god, she would.” 

 

“You did.” 

 

“You think I’m handling this wrong,” Bucky observed. 

 

“I don’t think anything.  I’m Switzerland.” 

 

“I’m handling this wrong.” 

 

“Completely neutral,” Steve answered, but his expression said something else.  His expression said that Bucky was handling it wrong, and if anyone knew how to handle a Barnes enough to deter them from going out to a weird hipster club, it was Steve Rogers.  Steve had been the only one who could talk sense into Bucky, who made Bucky want to choose to go to a science exhibit or stay home playing video games over partying. 

 

“I’m handling this wrong," he sighed, burying his face in his hands. 

 

Steve shrugged, but Steve had a way of not saying anything at all and Bucky filling in the gaps anyway.  “I think the only person who has the chance of getting her to listen is you, if you really talk to her.  If you don't want her following in your footsteps, you need to tell her why.” 

 

Bucky thought Steve probably wouldn’t do so bad at it either. The idea of really talking to Becca was chilling, but Steve was right.  It was necessary. He sighed and got up off the couch, moving across the room so he could rap his knuckles against his bedroom door.   

 

“Becca,” Bucky called through the barrier.  “Next year.  Next year we’ll take you out to all the places you want to go.  If we can get into them.  For now just be seventeen.  I know it’s a frightening age where you feel like you have to start making critical decisions that effect your whole future but you haven’t really figured out who you are as a person yet.  And all you want is to let off some steam and be treated like the type of adult who has to decide all these important things like college and careers, but there's a very good reason why I'm blocking you from it.  Please open the door,” Bucky appealed, looking back to Steve for the courage he needed.  “I’d like to tell you something and I don’t want to yell it at you.” 

 

He waited for a beat, but he knew better to expect Becca to just open the door because he asked.  “Go away, Bucky. You don’t know anything,” she yelled instead, which at least proved to him that she somehow hadn’t managed to crawl out on the window ledge to find her way to the fire-escape leading up to their neighbor’s apartment. 

 

“I’m not going to do that.  You want to know why you shouldn’t take after me? Because I overdosed on cocaine when I was 20.” 

 

Silence. 

 

The door opened so suddenly that it was clear she’d been standing on the other side of it.  Make-up was running down her tear-stained face, but she’d changed out of the dress and into a pair of boxers and a tank top. 

 

“What?” she asked, stunned and wide-eyed and looking every bit like a seventeen year old. 

 

Bucky felt that sibling bond, love and fondness welling up despite the fact that he was saying something very serious.  Now wasn’t a time to pull his punches.  Becca needed to hear it, but he didn’t have to be cruel about it.  “Come on,” he indicated, drawing her into the bedroom and sitting on the bed.  She sat next to him with one of her legs tucked beneath her. 

 

So young. 

 

And god, at seventeen he’d probably looked just as young.  “I haven't touched drugs since then, but before that... well, I liked to party and I knew what I was doing when I took the stuff,” he said first, fiddling with the blanket.  “It wasn't a case of not understanding my limits.  I was too high to care.  When I ODed, I almost died. I was in the hospital for almost a week.  In a coma for 2 days.  It looked like there might be brain damage, for a while, and if Steve hadn't found me... well," he shrugged, but it wasn't casual.  He couldn't get the words out, his throat tight.  He could feel Steve's eyes on him from the living room. "It was a hard time for everyone, but especially for mom.  She ignored a lot of my behavior under the assumption I was just being a teenager instead of a drug user.  So you’re probably right that you’re being coddled by both of us, but it’s difficult to watch you try to follow in my footsteps, and it’s difficult to hear you claim how I was doing things when I was your age, because I’m not exactly a great role model when it comes to the standard teenage experience.” 

 

“I don’t understand,” she answered, blinking at him.  Tears were back on her eyelashes, but he didn’t think it had anything to do with her being angry at him anymore.  “You’re not just telling me this, are you?” 

 

"No.  You can be like me if you want, but it's actually a miracle that I survived and managed to straighten myself out."  Becca would never understand how much therapy Bucky had gone through to be able to say the words in a way that framed it as a success of his rather than a failure.   _He_ survived.   _He_ persevered.  "Are you ready to hear about it?" 

 

She nodded, but the expression on her face told him that she wasn't ready to hear it at all.  Bucky thought maybe the kindest thing he could do in the long-run would be to tell her everything.  If there was a cautionary tale Becca would listen to, it was Bucky's. 

 

So Bucky started telling her the story, from the first moment when he was just a little younger than she was when he’d started experimenting with drugs, right up to when he hit rock bottom.   Mid-way through, Steve brought them in mugs of hot chocolate, placing his hand on Bucky’s shoulder for a moment in a silent show of support when Bucky stared up at him gratefully.  Bucky slipped his fingers through Steve’s, feeling comfort in the way they still fit together.  

 

It was so different from the way he and Steve had joked about it with Sam earlier.  With Sam, it had been banter.  For fun. He could joke about it easily, he’d earned that. With Becca it was a serious conversation and it was infinitely more difficult. Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand, needing him for a moment, this best friend turned lover. 

 

Steve smiled when Bucky pulled away, patting his shoulder and removing himself from the room.  Bucky took a deep breath and told her about the events leading up to his overdose in December of 2009, about calling Steve as he was ODing and waking up a few days later to realize Steve wasn't there.  

 

By the time he was done, Becca was sobbing with her head on his lap and Bucky was crying along with her.  Steve stood in the doorway watching both of them, removed from the scene but also such an integral part of it.  He looked proud of Bucky, standing sentry between the two of them and the rest of the world.   

 

And, Bucky realized, he was finally proud of himself.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on Tumblr](http://relenafanel.tumblr.com/) and I will be talking about the update schedule for this fic.
> 
> Like it? [ Reblog it!](http://relenafanel.tumblr.com/post/126283357033/stupid-fucking-brooklyn-hipster-bros-by)


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